


These Violent Delights

by shallot



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Swearing, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 153,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2646149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shallot/pseuds/shallot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU - Die Mannschaft with a few other familiar faces tossed in the mix.</p><p>Bastian and Lukas rule the roost, Mesut and Thomas are sick of their stereotypes, and Benedikt can't help but fall for the defender that he tries so hard to hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just pretend everyone is relatively similar ages. I don't own the German National Team, its players, its coaches or any other players that find their way into this mess. A high school alternate universe was just too much to resist.

Weisburg Academy is one of the most prestigious high schools in Germany, famous for its strong sporting and musical programmes, and receiving nationwide success in all areas of curriculum.

The boys at Weisburg are divided, the cliques you would usually find at an all girls school a predominant part of what makes Weisburg the school that it is. On one hand, you have the “jocks;” the footballers, the basketballers, the elitist ski-club. And then, there’s the rest. Somewhere along the track, someone decided that all the musicians and artistic types were not as cool as the sporty kids.

That’s about all you need to know about Weisburg. But the question must be asked: what happens when those two groups mix? Will the school be even more successful? Which unlikely friendships will form? Or will Weisburg never be the same again?

…

Thomas Müller was, as usual, late for school. First he'd ignored his alarm, then his mother's yells, then he’d forgot his bag, and they’d hit a particularly bad spot of traffic, and all in all it meant that he had a detention on the first day back after term break. Being Thomas’ best friends, Toni Kroos, Benedikt Höwedes and Mesut Ozil all found it hilarious of course when he hurried into Calculus nearly twenty minutes late, blushing uncharacteristically as he flashed his late pass at the unimpressed teacher.

“Afternoon,” Toni smirked as Thomas slid into the chair in front of him.

“Shut up, you - ”

“Müller,” Mr Bierhoff’s voice interrupted him. “You’re already behind, so I suggest that you shut up and get to work on this question before you get yourself another detention.”

The class broke into sniggers and Mr Bierhoff glared at them all. “The rest of you can do the same! This is an important year, and I know we say that every year but…”

As Bierhoff started to lecture them, Mesut, who sat beside Thomas, passed a note across the desk.

_Tryouts are in two weeks apparently… - M_

_Shit that’s soon! - T_

_I know… you're still keen right? - M_

_Of course. If you are - T_

_Are we going to tell them? - M_

_No. Benni will rip our heads off. -_ T

Another note landed on Thomas’ desk and he opened it curiously.

_Stop passing notes, you’ll get us all in trouble! - B_

This note was from the aforementioned Benni; Benedikt Howedes, who sat next to Toni. Thomas turned and smirked at his friends. “Pot calling the kettle,” he mouthed.

"Müller, turn around and get on with your work. This is your last warning."

"See!" hissed Benni, but everyone's attention was at that moment drawn to the group of footballers on the other side of the room as they broke into raucous laughter. The class was distinctly split into two sides; on one were the footballers and basketballers, and on the other was everyone else.

The group that had disrupted the class consisted of Mats Hummels, Bastian Schweinsteiger, Lukas Podolski and Manuel Neuer. They seemed to be throwing bits of paper at each other, and attempting to draw on one another's faces.

Benedikt glared past Thomas at the teacher, who had merely rolled his eyes. Of course, the footballers could do no wrong.

When another round of laughter came, the teacher finally did something. "Mr Hummels, would you kindly tell me what is so funny?"

Mats Hummels grinned innocently up at the teacher. He exuded confidence; he was attractive and popular and talented and he knew it. "Nothing sir," he said sweetly, while the other three stifled their laughter.

"Well then could you tell me the answer to the problem on the board?"

"That would be 2x + 13 over 4 - y sir," Mats replied without missing a beat.

"Good. Carry on."

Benedikt rolled his eyes, and he had good reason to; if it had been them laughing they would have got detention straight away, regardless of whether they could answer the question - which of course, Benni would have been able to. But no, as usual, perfect Mats Hummels could do no wrong.

"God he infuriates me," Benedikt muttered to Toni. Thomas heard him and turned around (luckily Bierhoff was helping someone) to tease him; "Awh did you miss Hummels, huh Benni?"

"Shut up," Benedikt blushed. "He's an idiot."

"An idiot you've still got a huge crush on," Toni chuckled.

"Shut up."

"Höwedes is it you talking this time?” Bierhoff was suddenly breathing down their necks.

"Sorry sir," Benedikt said, blushing crimson. Toni was struggling cover his amusement. Luckily he was saved any further lecture by the sound of the bell.

"I want better concentration tomorrow!" Bierhoff yelled at their retreating figures.

"See you guys at break," Mesut said as he left them to go to his Spanish class.

"Good luck!" Benni yelled after him, causing Thomas to frown.

"He's been moved up a year for Spanish," Benni explained. "Don't know why they didn't do it at the start of the year, now he's got to go into a class full of seniors."

"Shit," Thomas said.

"Tobias Schweinsteiger's in that class too," added Toni, looking somber.

"Asshole," Benni said. "He's even worse than his brother."

The aforementioned brother walked up ahead of the trio. Bastian was popular, a football hero and loved by all the teachers despite the fact that he wasn't all that bright. It was fair to say he ruled the roost in their year; he and his wingman Lukas were the principal enforcers of the hierarchical clique system that was ever so important at Weisburg. All in all, he was the prime subject for Benedikt's hatred.

They had the next two classes with the four footballers, and Thomas and Toni could feel that Benni wasn't going to contain his frustrations much longer. In Chemistry, Podolski and Schweinsteiger started tossing paper airplanes (Benni rolled his eyes when the first one flew across his vision - how more cliche could they get?) right under the teacher's nose and she didn't bat an eye. Benedikt seethed, but kept his mouth shut.

It came to break, and they all headed down to the cafeteria. Mesut was already waiting at their table, along with two boys that were the year below, but who still sat with the older group as they were good friends through the music program, Erik Durm and André Schürrle.

It is here that it is necessary to mention that everyone but Thomas was musical. Mesut and Erik both played the cello, Marco played the violin, Benedikt the piano, Toni the clarinet and André the trombone. Thomas meanwhile, was an artist, but had got to know Marco, who was a keen photographer, and so made up their seven-strong group.

"How was it?" Thomas asked Mesut.

"Terrifying," Mesut squeaked. "They're all so scary and good. Xabi Alonso's in that class of course, and Miroslav Klose, and Bastian Schweinsteiger's older brother, he's probably the scariest. He laughed when I got something wrong. I'm never going to be as good as them."

"So arrogance runs in the family," Benedikt growled.

Toni rolled his eyes at Benedikt's comment and patted Mesut on the back. "You'll be fine. That was the first lesson, you would have been nervous. They only put you up because they thought you would be able to handle it, so you'll be fine."

"The hardest part is the fact that I'm all by myself at the back, and it’s really difficult when you don’t know something. Xabi and Miroslav are in front of me, but I was too scared to ask them.”

They continued to chat about the seniors, and Thomas snuck a look over at their table. The footballers all sat in one big group, but there was a sort of divide between the younger and the older; Miroslav, Philipp and Xabi sat off to the side, their heads bent over something, ignoring the younger boys. Thomas watched as Miroslav ran a hand through his hair, and said something to his friends. He was gorgeous, Thomas had thought that the first time he’d set eyes on the senior. But besides a few interactions in the hallway, namely an awkward moment when Thomas had run into the footballer, he’d hardly spoken to Miroslav. But he wanted to, oh yes he wanted to. Everyone told him that Miroslav was out of everyone’s league, but he wanted to have a shot at conquering the mountain, and maybe, just maybe, that too was a reason he had for wanting to try out for the football team.

He’d played since he was 4, but no one really knew that until he’d discovered Mesut playing keepy-uppies one day when he’d gone round to hang out. And in his opinion, he wasn’t half bad. He’d played for his old school team, but since he’d come to Weisburg, he’d been more involved in the art side of things, rather than the sports, and with the cliques that dominated the academy, he had been far too scared to try out the previous year. But he and Mesut had practised over the summer, and he was feeling confident that he could make the team; the legends of Michael Ballack and Oliver Kahn had left school last year, leaving vacancies he knew the team needed to fill. An aching desire to prove himself consumed Thomas; he loved football anyway, so why not play?

“Earth to Thomas,” Benni’s voice snapped him from his daydreaming. “The bell’s just rung. Are you coming or not?”

Thomas nodded, and gathered his things, grabbing one last glimpse of Miroslav, who was laughing at something with Xabi, then turned and followed Benni. He loved his friend dearly but he could be an awful pessimist, and Thomas had an inkling that he might not be too impressed with his plans to trial.

But he didn’t care. Nothing was going to stop him.

…

At the first orchestra rehearsal the following afternoon, Marco was beginning to get fed up with Benedikt and his constant pining/ranting. He had his phone on the stand in front of him, and an ongoing conversation with his friend while the conductor wasn’t looking. One minute the pianist was complaining about the footballers’ behaviour today (Marco himself hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary but Benni seemed to find fault in anything,) the next he was telling him how it wasn’t fair that Mats Hummels was so incredibly attractive.

_he’s such an ass but he’s so goddamn hot - benni_

Mr Robinson was preoccupied with the clarinets, so Marco grabbed his phone and replied.

_i can’t believe this crush of yours has gone on for so long…. why don’t you just try get to know him? - marcooo_

_he probably doesn’t even know my name - benni_

_and he’s an ass!!!!!!! i don’t want to get to know him - benni_

_but he’s so good looking ugh - benni_

Marco rolled his eyes.

_this is getting ridiculous hahahah - marcooo_

_shut up - benni_

Eventually, Marco just told him that he was going to have to go, but really he just wanted Benni to get over himself.

He nudged Mesut, who sat a few feet away in the cello section, with his bow. “Benni’s complaining about Hummels again.”

“What’s new?” Mesut whispered back, rolling his eyes.

Rehearsal ended late, and Marco stayed even later to help with the pack up. He ended up being the last one out of the auditorium, and cursed as the rain begin to start. He had to walk home, and it was just his luck that he didn’t have an umbrella. He was going to get soaked, there was no doubt about that. He began to walk, but stopped when he heard a voice call out.

“Hey!”

Marco frowned and looked around. There was a boy on the other side of the carpark, shielding his head from the rain with his school blazer. “Do you want a lift?”

“Yes please!” Marco yelled back, and hurried towards the boy. He didn’t recognise him, meaning he was either the year below or the year above.

“Get in,” the boy said with a smile, then hurried round to get in the drivers seat.

Marco did as he said, glad to be out of the rain.

“Where do you live?” the boy asked as he started the engine.

“Kennedy Place.”

“Cool, I’m just round the corner from there. I’m Mario by the way.”

“Marco. Hey, thanks for this. I would have been soaked if I’d had to walk.”

“No problem.”

They made small talk throughout the drive (which was not a very long one) and Marco discovered that the boy was in the year below, and was new to the school this year, but nothing more before they pulled onto his street and he instructed Mario where to go.

The rain had subsided a little as Marco got out of the car. “Thank you so much,” he grinned and Mario smiled back. “Any time.”

 “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And with that, the younger boy gave him a wave and drove away. Marco couldn’t explain the fact he couldn’t stop smiling.

…

The first week back went relatively smoothly. With the news of trials the next week, the footballers were itching to play again, and by Friday lunchtime, Bastian and Lukas caved in and organised a kick-around on the school fields. It was wonderful to play again, feeling the grass beneath his bare feet. Bastian, like everyone else was eagerly anticipating trials.

 When he scored the winning goal, and carried out an elaborate celebration with Lukas that made everyone roll their eyes, he couldn’t help but have a good feeling about the year to come.

As they moved the goals back into the gear shed, Lukas kicked him in the shin.

“Ow!”

His best friend smirked. “Look over there.”

Bastian followed Lukas’ gaze to see Thomas Müller sitting on the hill sloping up from the turfs. “What is he doing?” Bastian laughed.   “I have no idea.”

“Is he watching us?”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe he’s got a crush on me.” Lukas ripped his shirt over his head and looked to see if the boy on the hill took any notice (which he didn’t.)

Bastian snorted. “You’re so vain.”

“You love it,” Lukas replied, tipping a wink at Bastian.

“Fuck off.” But he couldn’t help but admire Lukas’ physique. It was times like these when Bastian got very confused about his friendship with Lukas. They’d been mates for nearly ten years, and every now and again (usually when they were both single) Bastian would begin to harbour feelings for his best friend, feelings he could never explain. Lukas was attractive, but apparently very much straight. He hadn’t so much as thought about kissing a boy before. Bastian wasn’t experienced in that area either - he’d kissed Mats, but everyone had kissed Mats. But ever since he’d broken up with his girlfriend that summer those feelings had only been getting stronger.

Lukas cocked his head, raising his eyebrows. “You okay?”

Bastian ran a hand through his hair and tried to cover the fact that he’d just been deliberating the nature of their relationship (and checking out Lukas’ abs.) “Yeah, fine.”

Lukas frowned. “Okay… You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Look, Müller’s looking over at us again, maybe he does have a crush on you,” Bastian teased. Lukas jumped on him, and they began play fighting in their usual fashion.

A little way away, they were being watched by some of the other boys.

“Aren’t they cute,” Per cooed.

“Can they just get together already?” Philipp groaned as Lukas began tickling Bastian. “They are tickling each other. They’re like an old married couple.”

“Lukas is still adamant he’s straight. Bastian’s starting to come round. I reckon it’ll happen this year.”

“This year or never.”

Per looked at them thoughtfully. “Nah. It will happen. It will always happen. There’s no way it’s not going to happen.”

“Are we talking about those two?” Miro wandered over, looking at the two boys with an amused expression. “The love story of the century?”

“They are so in love it’s sickening,” Philipp said.

“Just a shame they can’t see it.”

“Only a matter of time.”

“Fifty Euro says it will be before mid-year,” Miro challenged, a glint in his eye.

“Oh you're so on,” Per chuckled. “They’re going to take much longer than that.”

The defender and the striker shook hands. Philipp just groaned. “It’s been ten years! How much longer do they need!” 

…

Friday afternoon, Mesut had Spanish fifth hour, then History sixth hour. He was still extremely uncomfortable in his senior Spanish class.

Today, he got to class early, and already had his books out when everyone else started arriving. Xabi and Miroslav were some of the first, and to his surprised Xabi flashed him a quick smile before the two boys took their seats.

The class progressed as normal, and Mesut did his best to shrink into the background and not be noticed or called on by the teacher. But when they were instructed to do a group activity, he felt like he was going to throw up; he was going to be all alone.

Then Xabi Alonso turned around, and sent him another smile. “Mesut, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Mesut stammered.

“Come sit with us.”

He had never felt more grateful for anyone in his life. He blushed a little, but did as the senior said, and pulled his chair up to the desk in front of him.  

“I’m Xabi, and this is Miro,” the Spaniard said.

“I know,” Mesut said quickly, then blushed even more.

But Xabi just smiled and pointed to the sheet they’d been given. “Do you get any of this?”

Mesut felt himself relax as they began to work together in translating the passage. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad class after all.

…

Mats Hummels was not pleased when he walked into HIstory, his last class of the week, to find Jogi (who was also his football coach) writing “PROJECT” on the board. Jogi always had a great way to ruin your week. When everyone had filed in and taken their seats, Jogi decided to make everything a whole lot worse. "I'm pairing you up," he announced, and received immediate backlash.

"Coach come on," Bastian exclaimed. "Can't we just pick our own pairs?"

"Our grades will be better," Manuel added.

But not only the footballers looked pissed off at the fact they weren't allowed to choose their own pairs. Mats saw Höwedes roll his eyes, while Özil looked positively terrified.

"Nope," Jogi said. "And that's final, unless you want a detention, Schweini."

Bastian shut his mouth.

"Okay. When I read your pair out, could you please go sit together.” The entire class held their breaths.

"Lukas and Mesut."

A scowl fell onto Lukas' face, while Mesut looked like he was about to throw up as he scurried across the room to the footballer.

"Manuel and Toni." Manu shrugged. Toni looked like he was in the same mind; it could have been worse.

"Felix and Hans." Jogi read the names of two basketballers who were in their class, who were best friends, and looked very happy at the fact they had not been split up.

"Oh so you put them together, sir," Bastian muttered derisively, but loud enough for Jogi to hear, earning him a glare and his pairing to be read out next.

"Thomas and Bastian."

Bastian scowled, and folded his arms, evidently refusing to move from his seat, and making Thomas, who looked a mixture of emotions, have to come to him.

"Marcus and Wes. Paul and Nikolas. Sami and Marco." Both boys looked reasonably pleased at this, as Marco crossed to sit with Sami, who shot him a smile.

"Benedikt and Mats."

Mats looked over at the other boy, and decided to go to him instead. Benedikt looked pleasantly surprised at Mats' move, then when Mats shot him a grin, he blushed and smiled back.

He was cute, Mats thought, with his floppy hair and light brown eyes, and when he smiled, his entire face lit up. Mats realised he’d often been one the receiving end of this boy’s scowls, when he or one of his friends had been disrupting class or something similar, but now he only wanted to see Benedikt smile; he looked much better like this.

They were given a documentary to watch, and were instructed to present a report on it by the next Friday. Both Bastian and Lukas still looked pissed off, but Mats didn’t mind the fact they’d been paired up. And anyway, Benedikt was smart; he’d probably get a better grade than he would have had he been with Manuel or one of his other friends.

“Have you seen this?” He asked Benedikt, motioning to the title of the documentary. The other boy shook his head.

“Neither have I. Do you know anything about the Vietnam War?”

Benedikt shook his head again.

“You _can_ say something, you know,” Mats laughed, and the other boy blushed again.

“I - uh - I only know a little bit about the Cold War,” Benedikt said softly. I think the Vietnam War had something to do with that.”

Mats grinned. “Well you can tell me all about it, because I have no idea.”

Benedikt looked slightly flustered as he nodded.

There was one thing that everyone agreed on. The coming week was going to be very interesting.

......


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With trials just around the corner, and the cliques having to get on if they want good grades for their History project, tension is high. Thomas makes a move and Benni a mistake, while Marco does a little bit of "casual stalking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea what time period to set this in, so I'm just demolishing all reason and setting it in the present day. Emojis are great. End of story.

Thomas decided to be proactive. He went to message Bastian on Facebook, then realised they weren't even friends, so he added him, then sent him a message on Friday night to organise when they would be working on their project. He was a bit apprehensive; Bastian hadn't seemed very happy at their pairing, but he assumed that was simply because the footballer would rather have been with Podolski or Neuer, and it was nothing personal against Thomas. But that all changed when Bastian replied on Saturday morning.

_We could go to the library or you can come to my house if you want? Miroslav Klose is here cos his rents are away but we can still work on the project - Bastian Schweinsteiger_

Thomas stared at the message. Now he wanted to get to Bastian’s and get started on this project as soon as possible.

_Okay if I come in about half an hour? - Thomas Müller_

_Yeah sure - Bastian Schweinsteiger_

And so, when Thomas turned up to Bastian's house (a sprawling mansion on the posh side of town) it was Miroslav Klose who opened the door.

"Oh hi," the footballer said. "Thomas, right?"

"Yeah," Thomas nodded, feeling his heart flutter a little at the fact Miroslav knew his name.

"Basti's in the shower," Miroslav told him, then stepped back to let Thomas in. He did so, shaking off his shoes and following Miroslav into the house.

"I’m Miroslav, by the way."

"I know," Thomas said.

A smile found itself onto Miroslav's face. Thomas pretended he didn't see it and took a seat at the dining room table, where Bastian had evidently tried to start studying, as the documentary and a few books lay atop his History textbook. "I remember this project," the senior said, sitting opposite Thomas. "We did the bombing of Hiroshima, but I studied this" - he motioned towards the documentary - "in German two years ago. I'm thinking of making Basti pay me for notes."

Thomas smirked. "You're a senior, then?" He asked innocently.

"Yep. Last year and then I'm getting out of here."

"What are you going to do?"

Miroslav shrugged. "Travel. Maybe university. I want to see the world, even if my parents don't think that's a "sensible" idea. It doesn't help that I've got enough money to last me the rest of my life."

"Can't imagine that would be a healthy combination," Thomas laughed, trying to ignore the fact that his brain was screaming _Hot and rich, hot and rich, hot and rich_ at him.

"No," Miroslav chuckled. "I've been told you and Basti don't know each other?"  
  
Thomas almost blushed, but kept his cool. "Part of different crowds, you know how it is. He's a footballer, I like to draw."

"That's cool. I wish I could draw," Miroslav said wistfully.

Was Miroslav _flirting_ with him?

"Anyone can draw if they want to."

"I can do a good stick man. Want to see?"

Thomas laughed and nodded, as Miroslav grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper. "This is me," he said, showing Thomas a stick figure kicking a football. "This is you," he grinned at Thomas then dramatically covered the paper as he scribbled out another person. The finished product was a man with a circle atop his head (which Thomas assumed was supposed to be a beret) holding a paintbrush at a very awkward angle in front of an easel. A palette floated in the air beside him. "And _this - "_ Miroslav poked out his tongue as he drew a final person (an act Thomas found adorable) " - is Basti!" He pointed to the third stick figure, who had a nose that took up the majority of his face and that was all the distinguishing features that Miroslav had given him.

"It really looks like him," Thomas smirked. "You've captured the essence of his features magnificently well. The aesthetic is pleasing. All in all it's worthy of an art gallery."

"Cute _and_ intelligent, then," Miroslav said. "You're quite the package. And I haven't even seen you draw yet."

Miroslav was _definitely_ flirting with him. Oh yes he was. Thomas couldn't hide the blush that dusted his cheekbones, and just grinned at Miro. The footballer sat back in his chair looking pleased with himself, and they both looked up when Bastian walked into the room. "Hey Thomas," the blonde grinned.

"Look, Thomas is teaching me how to draw," Miroslav smirked, showing his friend his picture.

Bastian examined the piece of paper with a smile, but that quickly turned to a frown as he looked up at Miroslav outraged.

"You fucker! My nose is not _that_ big."

"Don't you have a project to be getting on with?"

"You're lucky I can't kick you out of here."

"Get to work, grasshopper. You don't want to let Thomas down."

"I hate you. You're not even six months older than me."

"But yet you are still so, _so_  immature."

Bastian almost broke the DVD he chucked it so hard.

...

On Monday morning it was announced that football trials would take place the following afternoon. Thomas shot a covert glance at Mesut who inclined his head slightly, as if to say _Yep, we're still going to do this._

They were instructed to continue with group work in History, but Thomas and Bastian had got the bulk of their project out the way on the weekend. They’d agreed, or rather Bastian had decided and Thomas agreed, that they were well ahead of schedule. And so when Mr Löw told them to continue their project work, Bastian and Lukas swanned off to do something else, leaving Mesut and Thomas behind.

"How's it going?" Thomas asked.

"I wish we could have picked our own partners," Mesut sighed. "He doesn't really talk to me. I don't really try to talk to him. I feel like he doesn't like me very much. What's Bastian like?"

"He's not too bad actually," Thomas said. "I went to his house to study and it was weird; Miroslav Klose was there too and we ended up just chatting. He's actually not as big of an ass as he allows us to believe."

"See at least you can talk to him! Lukas just sits there on his phone and makes me do all the work."

"That sucks. To be honest, I don't care about our project, I just want to see how those two pan out." Thomas nodded towards Benni and Mats, who were reading a book together.

"I feel like it's just going to make Benni's crush ten times worse," Mesut whispered fretfully.

"Or maybe he'll actually get somewhere," Thomas mused. "They're ever so close to each other." They watched as Mats pointed to something on the page and their heads drew even closer together. "I think it's kinda cute," Thomas chuckled.

"I think he's pathetic," Mesut replied. "Mats is a slut, everyone knows that. Why Benni is so infatuated with him beats me."

"They would be such a cute couple," Thomas reasoned.

"If you ask me, it's going to end in disaster."

"If you ask _me,_ Benni's pessimism is rubbing off on you Mes."

"Shut up."

...

For the past week, Marco had been unable to get the cute young driver off his mind. It was doing his head in; he kept trying to catch glimpses of Mario around school but was never able to find him. At break, he decided to ask his friends. 

"Do you know someone called Mario in your year?" Marco asked the two youngest boys.

Erik frowned. "Uh, yeah I know a few Mario’s…" André nodded.

"He’s got brown hair, and kinda chubby cheeks."

"Oh that’ll be Mario Götze," André said. "Why?"

"He gave me a lift the other day, said he was in your year. He was nice, that’s all."

André and Erik shared a look, and Marco scowled at them. "What! He was nice."

"Whatever you say..." André sang.

"If I didn't know any better, Marco, I'd say you've got a crush..."

"I do not have a crush!" Marco exclaimed, his ears turning very red.

"Denial is not just a river in Egypt."

André snorted at Erik, then nodded. "We can introduce you if you want."

"I don't want - I hardly know the guy - he was nice, he drove me home, I just wanted to see if you guys knew who he was."

"Sure you did," André laughed.

"And I'm not in denial!"

Then Marco found himself on Mario Götze's Facebook page later that night, his mouse hovering over the "Add Friend" button. He'd just spent far too long looking through Mario's very open page, and was now psyching himself up to add the younger boy. A minute passed as he moved the mouse over Mario's profile picture, then strayed to the add button.

"You're pathetic," he told himself, then just did it.

There was no way he could have a crush on this Mario boy, was there? No. Of course not. But when Mario accepted him barely two seconds later, he began to think otherwise.

...

Mats had invited Benedikt round to his place to work on their project, something Benni found extremely nerve-wracking. They walked to his house together, Mats making most of the conversation with Benni trying to provide more than one-word answers, and ones that made him seem vaguely interesting.

"Chuck your stuff anywhere," Mats told him as they stepped through the door. Benedikt was busy toeing his shoes off, and Mats chuckled a bit at his manners. "Don't worry about those." He strode through to the kitchen and threw open the cupboard doors. "What do you want to eat?"

"I - uh - anything is fine." Mats rolled his eyes, and grabbed a bag of chips and a family size bar of chocolate, plus two cans of coke from the fridge.

"I d-don't drink fizzy drinks," Benedikt stammered quickly, embarrassed again, but Mats just nodded and smiled.

"What do you want instead? We've got juice or milk or chocolate milk or water or - "

"Chocolate milk," Benedikt said a little too quickly and went even more red. "Chocolate milk it is then," Mats chuckled, throwing him a bottle which he luckily caught. The footballer lead him through to the lounge, and inserted the disc into the DVD player. "Well, take a seat," Mats exclaimed, motioning to the spot next to him on the couch. Benedikt's heart was pounding as he did what he was told. Mats grinned at him and broke off a row of chocolate for them both, then shuffled a little closer to Benni.

He could have sworn Mats could hear his breath hitch, and his heart threatened to rip his chest apart as it slammed against the walls of his ribcage. He was watching a movie with Mats Hummels. A documentary albeit, but a movie nonetheless.

It was an interesting documentary; Benedikt kept his eyes fixed on the screen, and didn't dare glance over at the other boy, but he thought he could feel Mats inching closer to him, or maybe that was just his imagination. But when Mats stretched, and his hand brushed Benni's knee, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at the footballer. But Mats seemed to be oblivious to the situation Benedikt had in his mind.

It was wishful thinking, that's all, Benni told himself.

They started to work on their presentation, unfortunately moving to sit at the table. But now, Benedikt was painfully aware of the fact that if he fidgeted just slightly, his leg would probably touch Mats'. He tried to push this out of his mind and focused on the project. Mats worked surprisingly hard for someone of his social status - Benni had been under the impression that they were all thick and didn't study, but Mats seemed reasonably intelligent. When the footballer handed over an introduction for him to read, he was impressed.

It got to 6 o'clock and Mats had started making conversation with him as they worked. He found himself not wanting to leave, for Mats was interesting to talk to as well. But unfortunately, he had to wave him goodbye.

Given time alone to mull over things that had happened over the past couple of hours, Benedikt was suddenly furious with himself. He had got way too obsessed over Mats. This was unhealthy.

At school the next day, Mats was very much the same; smiling at Benni, sitting painfully close to him and making conversation that wasn't about their project. He even said hi to Benedikt in the corridor, causing Thomas to look around wide-eyed once the footballers were out of earshot.

At lunchtime, Benni was alone at his table; Mesut and Thomas were nowhere to be found, André had a rehearsal for something, and had told Benni that Erik had detention before running off in the direction of the music department, and Marco was finishing an assignment. But it was not the case for long. Mats slid into the seat opposite him. "You want to work on the project again after school?" He asked brightly.

"I - uh - yeah sure." Benni couldn't say no. He never would be able to say no.

"Cool. I've got trials, so maybe come around 6?"

Benedikt nodded.

"I'll see you later then." Mats waved enthusiastically then rejoined his group.

Benni couldn't resist sneaking a few looks at him over the course of the lunchtime. Every single time Mats caught him looking, and grinned at him across the cafeteria. Benedikt felt light headed.

Mats was going to be the death of him.

...

Thomas had some art to finish, and the trials didn’t start till 4. Mesut had nothing else to do, so he simply sat outside Thomas’ art room, his stomach in knots. When his friend finally emerged, Mesut felt like he was ready to throw up.

Thomas was nowhere near as nervous, it seemed. He was grinning, as usual, and chatted to Mesut all the way down to the pitch. A crowd of boys were already warming up, but Mesut and Thomas headed to the changing rooms first. Suddenly, he was wishing he got changed earlier. Everyone Mesut was most scared of seemed to be in the damn dressing room. Lukas Podolski was swanning around without his shirt on while Bastian tried to flick him with a towel. Luckily none of them seemed to notice the two boys enter.

Mesut changed quickly, and told Thomas he’d meet him outside. He didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary with the others.

He began juggling a ball, and felt himself relax a little, especially when Thomas joined him. But his friend’s attention seemed to be elsewhere.

"God he’s gorgeous," Thomas sighed.

Mesut rolled his eyes when he saw Thomas was talking about Miroslav Klose. "And way out of your league."

"Who says he’s out of my league?" Thomas grinned mischievously.

"It’s Miroslav Klose. He’s out of everyone’s league."

Thomas just chuckled, then initiated a game of keepy-uppies. Mesut dropped the subject, but couldn’t help notice the way that Thomas’ eyes flicked frequently to the senior.

Jogi’s whistle sounded and they crowded around the coach. He set them doing basic drills, and walked among them like a hawk, looking each of them up and down. Mesut felt his heart pounding as Jogi watched him and Thomas doing traps, then scribbled something on his clipboard.

After about an hour or so of drills, the coach called a break. Mesut fell onto the ground next to Thomas and took a huge swig of his bottle.

"How do you think that went?" Thomas asked.

Mesut shrugged. "I stuffed up a bit, and it just happened to be when he was walking near me."

"We’ll be fine."

" _You’ll_ be fine," Mesut said sadly.

"Shut up. You’re _really_ good. You’ll be fine."

"He’s right," said a voice behind them. Mesut whirled around to see Miroslav Klose sitting down next to them. "You’re both really good." He turned to Mesut. "Why didn’t you tell me and Xabs you played?"

"I – I uh - "

"Mesut’s middle name is ‘modest’," Thomas cut in.

Miroslav shot a smirk at him. "So we meet again," he laughed.

"What a coincidence," Thomas smirked back.

Mesut’s eyes widened. _Was Thomas actually flirting with Miroslav Klose?_

Miroslav let out a laugh. "I like you."

"Good."

"I’m glad you think so," Miroslav winked at him. "Well, I’ll see you two around, yeah?"

Mesut could only nod, whereas Thomas, as cool as a fucking cucumber, saluted Miroslav, making the senior laugh again before he returned to Philipp and Xabi.

Jogi’s whistle sounded before Mesut could ask what on Earth Thomas was playing at. They crowded around the coach again.

"Right," Jogi clapped his hands together. "Mini-game to finish things off. Philipp, Miro, captains." He motioned for them to start picking, and Mesut felt his stomach drop. He hated this. Despised it. He was _always_ picked last.

"Xabi," Philipp said straight away, grinning widely at Miro as the Spanish midfielder made his way to stand next to him.

Miroslav wasn’t fazed. "Per," he replied.

"Bastian."

"Mats."

"Lukas."

And the next name surprised everyone. "Thomas."

Thomas seemed to trip over his own feet as he joined Miro’s team.

Mesut felt his heart sink. Thomas had all the luck. He was going to be picked last, and would probably be separated from his only friend.

"Manu."

And then Miroslav said _his_ name. "Mesut." He was smiling at Mesut, kindly, telling him this wasn’t a joke; he had been picked! Picked by Miroslav Klose, and not picked last! He joined Thomas behind the striker, who gave him a high five.

They picked the rest of the teams, then Jogi blew his whistle to signify the kick off. Mesut played his heart out, and though they’d scored early, the other team had the only goalie, meaning Per was playing rush, and wasn’t doing the best job of the goalkeeping part. Soon, the opposition were winning 2-1.

Miro managed to knock one more past Neuer from a corner, tying it up, and then Jogi announced that the next goal would be the winner.

 _This is it,_ Mesut thought. _This is the last chance to prove yourself._ Thomas and Miro were playing up front (making a rather formidable team) and when the whistle sounded, they knocked it back to Mesut. He had three opposition players bearing down on him, but he just went for it. He rounded Podolski, then Khedira, then saw Thomas screaming for it out on the right wing. His pass was inch perfect, nutmegging Schweinsteiger in the process. Then he made for the penalty area as Thomas made a run of his own, flying past a few more defenders, then chipping it beautifully towards him. Mesut leaped into the air, and glanced quickly behind him to check that Miroslav was still where he had been a second before, then headed it deftly backwards for the striker to volley into the net past a bamboozled Manuel Neuer. Miroslav let out a whoop, and leapt on Mesut, Thomas joining them a second later, then the whole team piling in on the celebrations.

"Beautiful pass," Miroslav grinned at Mesut, then raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in the direction of Bastian. Mesut felt his heart fly as he saw the blond kicking the ground in frustration.

"Well done, Miro’s team," Jogi called, motioning for them to come in one last time. "It’s not often you put three past Manuel Neuer." The goalie shrugged, chuckling as Per gave his hair an affectionate ruffle. "And I’m sure that nutmeg will haunt Schweini forever." The blond simply scowled. "Thank you all for coming, the team list will be up sometime in the next week."

Mesut felt on top of the world. Xabi came over and gave him a pat on the back, commending his efforts and telling him like Miro had that he should have told them he was into football. He then spotted Thomas talking to Miroslav. They were both laughing about something, then the senior gave him an affectionate punch on the shoulder. Mesut watched in awe as Thomas asked him something, then pulled his phone from his bag, which Miroslav gladly took and typed in what Mesut presumed was his number. The senior gave Thomas a pat on the back and a wink, then waved as he jogged after his friends. Thomas made his way towards Mesut.

"Guess who just got Miroslav Klose’s number?"

"No way," Mesut shook his head.

Practically glowing, Thomas showed Mesut his phone, where a contact had been saved. When Mesut saw the name that Miro had saved his number under, his jaw dropped; the screen read 'miro' followed by a kissy-face emoji.

Grinning hugely, Thomas shoved his phone back in his pocket. "That was a good trial," he told Mesut. "We’ve got this."

Mesut nodded, still disbelieving of the fact that Thomas had actually been successful in flirting with Miroslav Klose.

Some people had all the luck.

…

Benni tried to convince himself that he wasn’t excited to spend more time with Mats, and failed miserably. He had a piano lesson straight after school, then his mother took him home, before he told her he had to go to a friends to study. The walk to Mats’ took about twenty minutes, and he got there right on 6.

Mats answered the door in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. He had evidently just showered, and there were droplets of water running down his chest that Benedikt couldn't take his eyes off. They pooled in the dip of his collarbone, but were flung out when Mats brought a hand up to rake through his damp hair. _This wasn't fair._

"Sorry, I only just got back," he smiled apologetically. Benedikt tried not to stare at his chest. He let Benni take a seat at the table again and told him he'd be five minutes, then dashed off to get changed.

"Thank God," Benni breathed as he disappeared. Shirtless Mats was not something he could stop distracting him.

Mats returned fully dressed, and they got to work. They kept up their usual chatter, and everything was all well and good until Mats began talking about his trial.

"Your friends were there."

"My what?" Benedikt exclaimed.

"Your friends. Thomas and Mesut. They are your friends, right?"

"Yeah but - but they aren't - why would they trial?"

"I don't know but they were good."

And so throughout the couple of hours that they worked on their project, Benedikt could not shake the thought that Mesut and Thomas had actually trialled. When he said goodbye to Mats, he checked one last time that it was in fact true, but Mats just told him the news he didn't want to hear.

"Yeah, they were definitely there. Impressed everyone."

"It's just... It's weird that's all."

"Okay..."

"See you later then," Benni mumbled, his mind still very much elsewhere. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even realise as Mats leaned in to give him a hug. He got so flustered that the crimson on his cheeks did not fade till much, much later.

Mats Hummels was going to be the fucking death of him.

...

Thomas didn't text Miroslav until the next morning. The emoji in his contact made him smile like an idiot every time. But this was Miroslav Klose. He had good reason to.

 _hey it's thomas_ he texted, with a kissy face emoji on the end to match the one Miroslav had left the afternoon before.

He got a reply as he sat on the bus.

_heyyy thomas :D - miro_

They texted all the way to school, and Thomas was all ready to brag about his progress to his friends when he came face to face with a fuming Benedikt Höwedes. "You trialled for the fucking football team?" Benni exclaimed. "What in the world would possess you to do that! You’re fraternising with the enemy!"

"And where did you hear this information from?" Thomas demanded.

"Mats told me and - "

"Oh so Mats told you, did he?” Thomas was suddenly fired up. “Of course you're going to defend your stupid little crush, instead of supporting your best friends. And you're a fucking hypocrite Benni, because if that's not fraternising with the enemy then I don't know what is."

"Mats is different," Benedikt protested. "The rest of them are assholes! Why would you want to get involved with them?"

“Maybe because we want to?” Thomas shot back.

"They’re not all assholes," Mesut said quietly. "Xabi is really nice, and Miro, and Per, and - "

"Whatever," Benni cut him off. "Do whatever you want to do. I didn’t realise you were so obsessed with popularity."

"Fuck, Benni, it’s not like that - " Thomas said, but the pianist had already stormed away. Thomas rolled his eyes. "He needs to get over himself." He glanced over at Miroslav's group then remembered he hadn't replied to the most recent text. They'd been talking about trials.

_well you were really good. There's no way you won't make the team. I'm looking forward to playing with you :) - miro_

Thomas grinned from ear to ear at his phone. Benedikt would need to sort the mess out himself, for Thomas had other things on his mind.

......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been very stressed with exams, so not sure what people will think of this one. Hopefully there aren't too many typos and you guys are still enjoying where this is going.  
> Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment and let me know what you thought! It is greatly appreciated.  
> Exams are nearly over so hopefully there will be more frequent updates in the near future.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benni can't make up his mind, Xabi is the saint that he is, Marco goes on a date and Thomas never thought that talking to people on the phone would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit angsty. Not really sure how that happened. It's mostly Benni. Benni is just very angsty in general.  
> Enjoy.

Benedikt's visits to Mats' house to work on their project had becoming his favourite things, and Benni hated himself for it. Even when they'd agreed they'd finished, and had planned for Friday's presentation, he wanted nothing more than to carry on working together. He tried not to think about how desperate he was. And over _Mats_ _bloody_ _Hummels_. But he caved, and Facebook messaged Mats on Thursday afternoon asking if wanted to he meet up and finalise plans for the following day. The reply brought him back down to earth.

_Mats Hummels: can't sorry, I'm on a date, but we'll be fine for tomorrow don't worry about it :)_

Reality hurt.

Benni knew he'd been lulled into a sense that Mats was actually wanting to spend time with him, missing the painfully obvious fact that they were only together because of the project and Mats probably despised him.

"You're so stupid!" He muttered to himself, typing back a civilised reply. He rolled onto his bed and scrunched his eyes shut. His seemingly harmless crush had got way too out of hand.

And Mats said he'd been on a date. He would never look at Benni in that way. Maybe he'd just imagined his friendliness, overthought the hugs and the smiles, and worked himself up, made himself think that he actually had a chance, when in reality he was the last person Mats Hummels would ever go for. He grabbed his phone and opened Facebook, then typed Mats' name in. His profile was very different to Benedikt's. He scrolled through his albums, the majority of which were titled something like "Miro's 18th," or "Final after party" and contained photos of the football group in various stages of drunkenness.

Mats was popular, and judging by some of the photos in which he was kissing various different people, he got around.

Benni hadn't even kissed one person.

He sighed. He was pathetic and he knew it. Mats probably knew it too.

It would be a shame, now this project was done and dusted, that they would probably return to their usual status of ignoring each other's existence. Benni scrolled through the photos and came across a video of Mats giving a lap dance to a boy he didn't recognise. The footballer was shirtless, and very drunk, and at the end of the video, he graciously threw up and fell into a hedge, causing hysterical laughter from the person behind the camera.

Benni rolled his eyes at his antics. That was a turn off if there ever was one.

Maybe it _was_ better this way.

...

The next day was Friday, and they had History in fourth hour. Lukas had opened up a bit to Mesut in the days after trials, meaning they had a chance of a better grade now that Lukas was contributing and making an effort. Jogi made every pair pick a number out of a hat, and Sami and Marco got the presentations underway. Lukas had his phone out under the table and as they were sitting in their pairs, Mesut gave him a nudge and a meaningful look.

Lukas grinned, then nodded his head towards Bastian who was also on his phone, but then did as Mesut had wanted him to. Mesut felt like he'd actually got through to Lukas, which was an achievement with someone who had previously thought him a loser. He regarded Lukas as a friend. It was nice.

As the presentations came to an end, Mesut realised that Jogi's pairings really had worked their magic. He looked around his class in awe. Bastian was whispering something to Thomas (Mesut frowned when he saw that his friend was also on his phone), Sami and Marco were passing notes, Benedikt was looking at Mats like he was God's gift to mankind (he supposed that was nothing new but at least now he wasn't just staring across a classroom - Mats was there to receive it, whether he knew he was or not) and Toni and Manuel were laughing about something.

He really hoped it would stay like this. He'd never liked the way the divisions between the two groups were so ingrained without question. Jogi had done well to dismantle them somewhat.

Jogi himself seemed to read Mesut's mind as he stood up and addressed the class. "See, it wasn't nearly as bad as you all thought it would be working with someone you didn't know," he said with a broad grin. "Maybe I'll do this next time, too."

The protests were rather half-hearted; everyone could see the truth in Jogi's words, and they had enjoyed themselves, there was no doubt about it. "Well, have a good weekend, and I'll see you all on Monday," he said as the bell rang.

Lukas gave Mesut a wave then left with his friends. Thomas arrived at his desk, his eyes fixed on his phone, waiting for Mesut to pack up. Mesut meanwhile, looked over at Benni. The brunet was talking to Marco. He hasn't sat with them the previous few days ever since the row with Thomas, but maybe that was about to change. He knew Thomas was mad, but Mesut avoided conflict at all costs. It was funny really, he thought, how the divisions were now within the group.

Thomas tapped his foot impatiently, his thumbs flying.

"Calm down, I'm coming, I'm coming," Mesut huffed. "And you're so busy texting anyway, who is so important that you - that's not Miroslav is it?"

Thomas looked up, grinned, nodded, then looked back down at his phone again. Mesut shook his head disbelievingly. Thomas seemed extremely immersed in whatever conversation he was having with Miroslav, so Mesut didn't bother saying anything more, and they walked in silence to the cafeteria, until Marco, along with Erik, caught them up.

"Benni's coming to sit with us, he's just going to the music department."

Mesut smiled, he was genuinely pleased that Benedikt was trying to resolve the conflict. Thomas on the other hand was not so pleased. "Great, we get to hear him moan about how we've betrayed him or something. Or he'll just babble on about bloody Mats."

"Hey, you're just as bad, you hardly say a word to us you're too busy texting whoever you're texting," Marco shot back.

Mesut groaned as a huge grin split across Thomas' face. "That's because I'm texting Miroslav Klose."

Marco didn't have the desired reaction. "Why has everyone got a crush?" He sighed.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Mesut said.

Erik let out a snort. "You do have a crush Marco."

"Oh shut up." The two blondes bickered all the way to the cafeteria, where they were joined by André and later Benedikt. The pianist seemed to be his usual self, if a little cold towards Thomas and Mesut. But then Xabi Alonso approached their table, and a scowl formed on Benni's face.

"Hey Mesut," Xabi said brightly, unaware that he was fuelling a very dangerous fire. "You didn't happen to pick up my Spanish book by accident, did you?"

As a matter of fact, Mesut had done. Benedikt seemed to think that misplacing a Spanish book was one of the most heinous crimes known to man as he was glaring at the senior.

"Oh get over yourself," Thomas told Benni once Xabi had disappeared.

Benedikt flipped him off. A scowl remained on his face, and on Thomas', for the rest of the lunchtime.

...

Marco had been talking to Mario a bit on Facebook. It was Saturday night and he was working on his photography folio, his computer perched at the back of his desk, Mario's chat window the only one open.

_Mario Götze: what u up to?_

_Marco Reus: photog homework, wbu?_

_Mario Götze: nothing much rlly, just listening to music and chatting_

_Marco Reus: ooh what music do you like?_

_Mario Götze: lots of stuff, mostly hip hop and rap and pop like The Weeknd, Rihanna, Tinie Tempah etc, wbu?_

_Marco Reus: I really like Justin Bieber (don't judge me) and similar stuff to you :)_

_Mario Götze: dude Bieber is cool! he is super talented I'm not judging u_

Marco couldn't stop grinning.

_Marco Reus: Would you judge me if I told you I knew all the words to most of his songs??_

_Mario Götze: Hmmm maybe hehe_

_Mario Götze: I think that's what people call an obsession marco_

_Mario Götze: :P_

_Marco Reus: I just love the biebs <333 _

_Mario Götze: it's okay marco, it's okay._

_Mario Götze: I'll take u to belieber's anonymous don't worry_

_Marco Reus: shut up hahahahhaha_

Mario took a little longer to reply this time, and Marco was scared he'd chased him off, but the message that came through was well worth the wait.

_Mario _Götze_ : changing the subject, but do u want to maybe go see a movie with me tomorrow? or hang out at the mall or something?_

Marco replied straight away, his heart pounding, his photography suddenly very much forgotten.

_Marco Reus: yeah that would be cool! what time?_

_Mario Götze: does 4 sound okay?_

_Marco Reus: sure does :)_

_Mario Götze: cool I'll see u then, gtg dinner byee_

_Marco Reus: byeeee :D_

Marco couldn't concentrate on his folio any more so he just curled up on his bed and reread his conversation with Mario. It made him smile like an idiot every single time. This was a new low.

Then, another chat popped open.

_Erik Durm: we r going 2 the mall 2moro if u want to come with_

Shit.

He knew how much his friends (especially Erik) would tease him if they found out he was hanging out with Mario Götze. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

_Marco Reus: I'm not allowed, sorry :( you guys have fun though :)_

The guilt of lying stayed with him right up till the following afternoon when he started to get ready to meet Mario. Soon his room looked like a bomb had hit it. There were clothes everywhere, potential outfits that he couldn't be bothered to (and didn't have time to) put away, because _shit he was supposed to be there in 10 minutes!_ He eventually decided on simple; jeans, a loose-ish v-neck, and a jacket.

He was meeting Mario there, and caught the bus, careful to stay on the lookout for any of his friends. It was chilly, and he was glad he'd also worn a beanie and a scarf (they would also aid him in avoiding any encounters with his mates.) Mario arrived a few minutes later. He shot a grin at Marco, and they made pleasant chatter as they bought tickets and food, then found their way up to the theatres.

The movie was good, although Marco was a bit preoccupied with the fact that Mario's hand was barely inches away from his on the armrest they shared. He itched to reach out and grab it, and when he realised his self control wasn't up to the task, he ended up clutching his own hands together in his lap to prevent himself from taking his hand.

They walked down to the food court and got dinner - Mario went for a burger while Marco got sushi - and they continued to chat. Mario was incessantly easy to talk to, and he kept up conversation as they looked around the mall for a little while. Then Marco caught sight of four familiar faces in the food court.

"That's my group!" Marco hissed, hiding behind Mario and steering him in an entirely different direction.

"Well we can go say hi, then -"

"No! No, they asked if I wanted to hang out and I said I wasn't allowed! If they see me on a date with you they'll know I lied and -"

"Is this a date?" Mario asked quickly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

"I - uh - " Marco flushed crimson at his mistake.

"It can be a date if you want it to be. I want it to be." Mario was smiling at him, and then he was reaching for his hand, and Marco couldn't help but smile back and let him take it.

"I want it to be a date."

"You should have said so earlier and I would have paid for the movie or something," Mario chuckled.

"Or you could have said something and I could've paid."

"Next time," Mario said with a wink. Marco felt his heart flutter at the fact there was to be a next time. "Now let's get away from your friends, yeah?" the other boy laughed, shaking his head.

"Okay."

They left the mall hand in hand and Mario led him to his car.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I - uh - I know this really nice ice cream place? We could go there?"

"Sounds good," Mario grinned.

And so, they got ice cream, and sat in Mario's car and talked for nearly an hour about everything under the sun - music, sport, school, their families, even politics at one point - and Marco found himself enjoying Mario's company immensely. The brunet boy was sitting with his legs tucked up to his chest on the driver’s seat, his ice cream (Marco was silently judging him for getting a cup not a cone) cradled in his hands atop his knees. He looked ever so cute and Marco had the urge to throw their ice creams out the window and kiss him.

 _S_ _hit_ , he thought. He was so far gone.

He didn't want the night to end, but Mario eventually started his car and drove Marco home.

"We should do this again sometime," Mario said as he pulled into Marco's driveway. Marco couldn't help but smile at the way Mario did not need instructions to find his house this time.

"A date, or hanging out?"

"A date, if you want."

"Definitely." Marco winced at how quickly he'd agreed with that. Mario didn't seem to notice.

"I'd like that." The younger boy gave him a hug, his hands lingering on Marco's waist, then waved him goodbye and drove away.

Marco almost tripped up the front steps he was so light headed.

...

Mesut walked into Spanish on Monday morning and was presented with the test he'd done the previous week by his grim-faced teacher.

This couldn't be good.

He snuck a look at Xabi and Miro's papers as he walked past, clutching the grade-side of the test to his chest. Xabi had got a perfect 30/30 but that was expected. Miroslav had done well too, with 26.

 _Please be good, please be good, please be good_ , he prayed, staring at his upside down test paper. His heart was pounding as he turned it over and saw his score. 14. Not even half. Below his grade was a note from his teacher; _“See me after class."_

Mesut wanted to cry. Moving up a year had been a such a bad idea, but he couldn't back out now, the deans would eat him alive. He stuffed the paper into his bag, his ears burning, trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the seniors (who all seemed to have done reasonably well, better than him at least.)

When he went to the teacher at the end of class, she gave him a stern look, then waited for the rest of the boys to file out before saying "Take a seat, Mesut." He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and did as he was told. "Fourteen. It's just not good enough. They said you were capable enough to be in this class, but you just didn't learn your vocabulary and I'm wondering if they made the right decision..."

"I - I'm just - adjusting. I promise next t-test will be better," Mesut choked out.

She gave him a sympathetic look, but nodded. "You've got one more chance."

"Th-thank you." As he got to his feet, the door swung open again revealing a flustered Xabi Alonso.

"Sorry miss I forgot my - " he noticed Mesut. "Oh, sorry, I can leave if -"

"No, we're finished here," the teacher waved Mesut away.

Xabi grabbed whatever belonging he'd forgotten, then caught up to Mesut in the corridor. "What was all that about?" He asked, looking genuinely concerned.

The cellist blushed. "Uh - um - my test..."

Xabi's eyebrows furrowed together. "Did you do okay?"

"N-no. Not really. She said if I don't bring my grades up they'll move me back down."

The Spaniard looked thoughtful for a second. "I could tutor you?"

"N-no it's fine, I - "

"Why not! It would be fun. And I can put it on my college application."

"Xabi, I really appreciate it but - "

"But what?" "But I... I don't want to waste up your time or anything..."

"It would be my pleasure to tutor you. You wouldn't be wasting my time."

"Okay," Mesut stammered, trying to smile. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hey and good luck for the squad announcement, I'm sure you'll be fine. I'll drop you a message on Facebook and we can organise times, yeah?"

"Okay. And th-thanks." Xabi gave him an enthusiastic wave and turned down another corridor to whatever class he had next. Mesut had calmed down now, and the prospect of learning from someone who was fluent really boosted his confidence. He was a bit confused why Xabi had offered to do it at all, but he didn't care; Xabi Alonso was truly a saint.

...

"So, how was your weekend?" Erik asked Marco innocently. They were the only two at the lunch table. Little did Marco know, Erik had spotted him hand in hand with Mario Götze at the mall.

"Alright," Marco shrugged, not taking his eyes off his food. "Didn't really do much. What about you?"

 _You sneaky liar_ , Erik thought. "Oh it was good. Went to the mall, it was a shame you couldn't come."

Marco was still looking down at his food. "Yeah."

"Though you wouldn't have been able to hold hands with any of us."

Marco promptly choked on the fries he was in the midst of eating, and Erik had to thump him on the back as he laughed.

"How do you - I thought you didn't see - " Marco was red in the face, looking disbelievingly at Erik.

"I went back to go to the toilet. You two looked very cute."

"I - I don't - " Marco spluttered. "Please don't tell the others."

"Your secret is safe with me." He wondered why Marco was so adamant that his crush on Mario remained unknown to his best friends.

"He... He asked if I wanted to go on another date." Marco was blushing all the way up to his hairline, and the way he was smiling as he talked about Mario was a way in which Erik hadn't seen him smile before. "I really like him, Erik. But don't tell anyone."

"I won't." He'd known Marco for ten years of his life. They'd attended the same schools, their families were good friends, they'd got along well every time they'd hung out - it made sense that Erik was part of Marco's group and one of his closest friends. With an inward sigh, Erik, being the good friend he was, listened patiently to Marco prattle on about Mario. He supposed it also made sense that he was in love with the other blonde. It just didn't help anything.

...

In the week after their project, everything began to return to normal, and Benedikt could not hide the fact he was disappointed. Some part of him wished he could keep the Mats Hummels he'd discovered the previous week forever. Another part knew they were never destined to be friends, and told him it was better like this.

But with Mats' return to his moderately-douchebag-ish self (to Benni's dismay he'd participated in the torment of a substitute that morning) he couldn't help but wish he could rewind to last week and relive those moments over and over again.

Mats didn't even say hi to him in the corridor.

Mr Löw had tried his best, but it seemed nothing could make the two groups gel. They were just too different. He'd maybe caused a few new friendships to blossom, but that was all; though Benedikt had discovered that Mats was not a complete asshole he still despised Bastian and Lukas. Lukas seemed to be "friends" with Mesut, but Benni wondered if that was the trial's doing or the project's. Bastian and Thomas were friendly too, and Benni thought the same thing as with Mesut.

He was still angry at Thomas and Mesut for trialling. He stood by what he'd said, but there was no doubt that he felt guilty for not supporting them despite his disagreement with their choices.

Mesut seemed to feel his unrest, as they were practising in a trio for a recital when he suddenly stopped playing, turned to Benni and said, rather plainly, "When are you going to apologise to Thomas?"

Toni let out a small noise of agreement.

Mesut rested his bow on the music stand and clasped his hands together around the fretboard of his cello. "I mean, I'm not too fussed if you don't agree with my choices, and I'm not going to hold it against you, but Thomas is pissed. And he's not just pissed, he's upset."

"I... _I'm_ still pissed off." Benedikt said indignantly.

"Why?"

"Because I don't understand why you guys even trialled! The football team is nothing special, most of them are assholes who hate our guts, and the rest of them are assholes who pretend to like us, but don't actually."

"If you're making this about bloody Mats Hummels I will be very unimpressed."

"Shut up about Mats, will you?"

"You brought him up," Toni pointed out quietly.

"See that's what I don't get," Mesut said. "You get all iffy with us when we trial, but you don't see us getting fed up with your constant talk about bloody Hummels. Make up your mind Benni! It's okay to like him. It's okay to hate him too. But just know that whatever you chose, we'll be there to support you. Maybe you should take that into consideration and apply it to the situation with Thomas. And you're always saying Mats is a complete dickwad, why don't you look at yourself? You're just as much as a dick as he is right now."

And with that, the cellist got up, packed away his instrument and left. Toni followed a few moments later, looking almost sympathetically at Benedikt.

"Urgh," Benni groaned and wanted to bang his head against the piano keys (but he didn’t because the instrument probably cost more than his house was worth). He hated to admit it, but Mesut was right.

...

Thomas was sitting at home at his desk, leaning back in his office chair, his legs resting on a stack of papers. He had his study books open in front of him, but they had received little attention in the past few hours, as he was far more interested in texting Miroslav.

_want to play truth? :) - miro :*_

_yeah okay :) - thomas_

_you go first - miro :*_

_okayyy do you like someone at the moment? - thomas_

_yep I think so... what's the main quality you look for in someone? - miro :*_

_got to have a sense of humour (or put up with my sense of humour hahah) - thomas_

_who's your closest friend? - thomas_

_probably Xabi or Fips, same question to you :) - miro :*_

_usually Benni (but he's being an ass at the moment) but also Mesut - thomas_

_eyes or smile? – Thomas_

_Benni’s the one who scowls all the time, right? And smile, definitely :P - miro :*_

_you've got a nice smile :D - miro :*_

Thomas gaped at his phone, as Miroslav’s next question came up.

_ideal date? - miro :*_

He decided to flirt back.

_Yep that’s him. I prefer eyes... You've got nice eyes hehe - thomas_

_and I really like picnics :) - thomas_

_hottest person in your year? - thomas_

_Don't tell anyone I said this, but Xabi - miro :*_

_Hottest person in your year? - miro :*_

_Mats Hummels. That boy is a god – Thomas_

And then the screen flashed to “incoming call: miro :*”

Frowning, Thomas answered. “Hello?”

“Shit I didn’t mean to call you,” came Miroslav’s voice laughing from the other end. “I just got a new phone yesterday and I’m still getting to grips with all the buttons and stuff.” Thomas found this rather adorable, but didn’t tell him that.

“It’s okay,” he said. It was _very_ much okay. “I can hang up if you want?”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s been a while since I talked to anyone on the phone like this. We’re so old fashioned.”

“ _So_ old fashioned,” Thomas laughed, trying to hide the fact that his heart rate had gone up by about twenty beats per minute, particularly at Miroslav’s use of ‘we’. ‘Thomas and Miroslav’ sounded ever so good and his mind. “So what are you up to?”

Two hours later, they were still talking to each other. Thomas had abandoned his position at the desk - that homework was never going to get done now - and was now sitting on his bed. Miroslav had complimented him multiple times and Thomas had blushed and flirted back. They’d continued with their game of truth, then Miroslav asked why Benedikt was being an ass and Thomas ended up telling him all about that.

His mother poked her head round his bedroom door and told him dinner was ready. So, he was forced to say goodbye to Miroslav.

“I’ve got to have dinner, but this was cool. I haven’t phoned anyone in ages.”

“Everyone should talk on the phone more often,” Miroslav replied. “Hey, call me after you’ve finished dinner if you want to talk some more. I’m really bored, and you’re really fun to talk to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Thomas grinned. “See ya, Miro.”

“Enjoy your dinner, Tom.”

And with that, the line went dead.

“I thought talking on the phone was something you teenagers turned your noses up at?” His mother laughed as he sat down for dinner.

“He accidentally called me,” Thomas said. “But we just decided to talk like that.” Suddenly he had a thought; maybe it wasn’t an accident at all.

No. That was reading far too much between the lines.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Friend from school,” Thomas said, as he shovelled mashed potato into his mouth. He hadn’t even eaten afternoon tea he’d been so preoccupied with texting Miro. “He’s on the football team.”

“The one you trialled for?” His dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is he good looking?” His mother asked.

“Mum!”

“I’m just asking!”

“Fine, he’s actually gorgeous.”

“Have you got a picture?”

“Mum, why would I have a picture of him?” Thomas spluttered. That was the problem with getting on with your parents. They wanted to know every little detail. Ever since Thomas had come out it had been in full force; his Mum was determined to set him up with "some nice boy who will treat you right," as she liked to remind him.

“I don’t know, you’re talking to people on the phone now, that was something we did in our day."

"We used to carry pictures in our wallets," his dad said fondly.

"Are you sure you don't have a picture?"

As his parents reminisced about “the old days” Thomas felt his phone vibrate in his lap.

_That was fun but now I miss you, you better call me after you’ve finished dinner – miro :*_

Thomas started eating a little quicker.

......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off to Switzerland on the 4th, and shall probably be without a laptop as my Macbook is broken :((( I'm trying to get it fixed, but if not I shall try to update as much as I can off my iPod, but I'm not back till the 28th of January, so these next chapters might take a while. If I'm not able to update, I shall still be writing anyway, and will post everything when I get back. But hopefully that won't need to happen and I will be able to post. That was probably very confusing but oh well.
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Hope you guys liked it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys do some talking. A lot of talking. Deep meaningful conversations galore.

"We need to talk about Thomas," Miroslav announced upon his arrival to Spanish on Thursday morning. The senior slid into the seat next to Mesut, then rested his chin in his hand and looked expectantly at him.

Mesut laughed softly. "That sounds ominous."

"I want to ask him on a date and I need to know three things; does he like me, does he kiss on the first date and does he have a preference on flowers?" Miroslav counted his questions off on his fingers, but did not seem to be joking. He genuinely wanted answers.

On Mesut's other side, Xabi was laughing at Miroslav's demands.

Mesut thought for a second. "Probably to the first, probably to the second, and I have no idea about the third."

Miroslav looked distraught. "Probably! I can't go off probably. What if he doesn't!"

"Probably kisses on the first date or probably likes you?" Xabi smirked and Miroslav just glared.

"Okay, okay, he does like you, or he's got a crush on you at least, but who doesn't," Miroslav was modest enough to blush at this statement. "He definitely thinks you're hot. He's said you're gorgeous at least twice. He probably likes you. I'm, like, 95% sure."

"5% is a reasonably big amount - ”

"Oh just ask him out," Xabi groaned. "He's probably head over heels in love with you, Miro, everyone is."

"Says Mr Perfect."

"Don't call me the P-word," Xabi shuddered.

"Perfect grades, perfect footballer, perfect hair, you could be a hair model Xabi I'm telling you - ”

"Yeah but what about you, with your record breaking goal tally and - ” 

"Are you guys _really_ fighting over this?" Mesut asked, laughing.

"I'm just trying to show that Xabi is what scientists call the perfect specimen - "

“Stop it! _I'm_ just trying to show that Thomas likes you, or probably does at any rate."  

“But what if he doesn't!" While Miroslav continued to fret over Thomas' affections, Xabi leaned to Mesut and whispered "He must really like this friend of yours, he never gets this hung up over guys. Usually the one night stand type."

Mesut laughed and turned to Miroslav. "Look at it this way, you guys text all the time - and believe me I know, because he's always busy talking to you when I'm trying to tell him something important.” Miroslav smiled at this. "He grins at his phone like a damn Cheshire Cat. He's got to be enjoying talking to you. Just ask him out." He gave Miroslav a warning look. "But don't you dare break his heart because he is the happiest person I know and I don't know what I'd do without him to cheer me up."

Miroslav nodded. "Okay," he said, rather determinedly, but a couple of seconds later he was deliberating everything again. Xabi stuffed his earphones in, offering Mesut one but he shook his head; hearing Miroslav’s feelings for his best friend was rather entertaining.

"See I don't usually even have crushes on people - okay I’m not a slut but I haven’t done a proper relationship for a while - I talked to him on the phone for three hours the other night. And he flirts with me and I flirt back and - ”

"Klose, please focus on your work," the teacher was giving them a stern look.

"I'm falling for him," Miroslav hissed to Mesut a couple of minutes later. "And I promise not to break his heart but you have to -"

“ _Klose!_ It will be detention next time."

Miroslav grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled the rest of his sentence.

_You have to promise that you won't tell him any of this._

_Secret's safe with me, lovebird._

Miroslav poked his tongue out.

The bell rang and as they began to walk to the cafeteria together Miroslav was still contemplating his options, talking at the other two rather than with - Xabi still had his headphones in.

He was interrupted, however, by an incredibly excitable Bastian Schweinsteiger. "Jogi gave us vice!” he yelled, shaking Miroslav's shoulders.

Mesut felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The team list must have been posted.

"Me and you, dude, this year's going to be the best," Bastian told Miroslav, who gave the younger boy a hug.

Xabi seemed to realise that Mesut had paled and gone stock still. "C'mon," he muttered, dragging Mesut away from the other two by the elbow. “It’ll be on the noticeboard.”

Mesut’s heart was thudding tremendously fast as they ran down to the noticeboards near the administration building. Xabi seemed to be certain of his own place, as he pushed Mesut towards the list first. Feeling like he wanted to throw up, he read down it:

_1st XI squad:_

_Captain: Philipp Lahm_  
_Vice Captains:_  
_Miroslav Klose_  
_Bastian Schweinsteiger_  
_Squad:_  
_Per Mertesacker_  
_Sami Khedira_  
_Xabi Alonso_  
_Jerome Boateng_  
_Lukas Podolski_  
_Mario Götze_  
_Manuel Neuer_  
_Mats Hummels_  
_Thomas Müller_  
_Christoph Kramer  
_ _Robert Lewandowski_

And right at the bottom of the list, but still _on the list:_

_Mesut Özil_

"I made the team," Mesut choked out, staring in disbelief at the list. "I made the team, Xabi."

"Too right you did!" Xabi crowed, pulling him into a hug.

_I made the team, I made the team, Thomas and I made the team_. He couldn't stop thinking about it, even after Xabi had left for his table with another hug, a wave, and a "Congratulations."

Thomas bounded across the cafeteria to meet him and pulled him into a hug even tighter than Xabi's.

"We fucking did it!" He exclaimed.

Mesut couldn’t stop smiling, even when they took a seat at the table and Benedikt spat a rather sarcastic congratulations at them. 

Thomas huffed. “Christ, Benedikt, get over yourself.”

“Oh fuck off,” Benedikt rolled his eyes, and Mesut’s smile faltered a little; Benni wasn’t usually one to swear.

“No, you know what, _you_ fuck off, Benedikt,” Thomas exclaimed. “You’re pathetic, petty and jealous, just because _we_ actually managed to get into something. You’re ridiculous. I don’t understand what your problem is.”

“My problem is that you’re going to ditch us for those football douchebags!”

“Why would I ditch you? You guys are my friends.”

“Doesn’t seem like it right now,” Benni scowled.

Thomas eyeballed him. “Just grow up, Benni.” And with that he stood up, shooting a pointed glare at the pianist, then picked up his bag and stalked away.

Mesut sighed. Benedikt seemed to be at least a little ashamed at what he’d said as he was blushing, pushing his food around his plate with his fork and refusing to look at any of them.

Mesut shared a glance with Marco, who merely rolled his eyes.

The rest of the lunchtime was spent in silence.

…

The conflict only escalated the next day. Thomas was sick to death of Benedikt and his issues, and the break was full of awkward glances and hushed conversations. 

Miroslav swung by to talk to Thomas for a few minutes, and when Benni made the mistake of rolling his eyes as Miro walked away, Thomas snapped. 

“What is your fucking problem!” He yelled, then reached across the table and gave Benni a push.

The pianist gaped at him, then pushed him back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Benedikt went in full force, clutching for Thomas’ collar over the table. Thomas retaliated by picking up his lunch tray and dumping the contents of it over Benedikt’s head, and consequentially started one of the biggest food fights Weisburg had ever seen.

Both boys ended up in the headmaster’s office. Thomas had a fry or two in his hair while Benni was covered in pasta sauce and had a cut near his hairline from where Thomas had whacked him over the head with the lunch tray.

Mr Klinsmann looked extremely strained as he surveyed the two boys before him, who were pointedly ignoring each other. “Please enlighten me as to why you two thought it was a good idea to start throwing food around?”

Neither boy answered.

“A dozen eye witnesses have informed me it was you two who started the chaos, and you will both be serving detentions.” Benedikt looked infuriated and shocked at the same time by this fact. Thomas repressed the urge to mutter “Goody two shoes.”

“Now would either of you like to tell me what this is all about?” Klinsmann probed. He was met with another heavy silence, and instead handed Benni a tissue to dab his head with as it had begun to bleed.

Klinsmann sighed, and murmured something that sounded a lot like “Jesus Christ above” under his breath. He rummaged in his desk and pulled out two detention slips.

Benedikt refused to do the detention on the same day as Thomas. Klinsmann looked like he wanted to bash his head against the wall.

“I suggest you go get cleaned up and return to class,” he told them, having issued their detentions (Benedikt’s for that afternoon, Thomas’ for the following.)

“Yes sir,” they muttered in unison, then glared at each other, and with a sigh, Klinsmann waved them out of the office. 

…

Erik had tactfully avoided the brunt of the food fight, and had escaped with only a slight pasta stain on his blazer. He had Biology after break, and as he walked he marvelled at the fact that Benni and Thomas had started a fight that involved pretty much the entire school; almost every boy he laid eyes on had some sort of food on him.

Biology was the one class that Erik shared with Mario Götze, but until Marco’s sudden fixation with the boy, Erik hadn’t actually realised he existed. Both he and Erik kept to themselves; Erik sat with André, while Mario was with one of his friends across the other side of the room.

Today, they were instructed to get into groups of four. Curious to see what this Mario was like, Erik dragged André over to the other boy’s table. “Alright if we work with you guys?” He said nonchalantly, flashing a smile.

Mario and his friend both nodded.

They were dissecting a frog, and about halfway through the lesson, Erik stepped back and let André have a go, so he could watch Mario for a little while. In his opinion, he didn’t know what Marco saw in him. Yeah, he was cute. But he wasn’t anything extremely special. 

Maybe that was the jealousy talking. Erik hated to admit it, but he craved to be in Mario’s place, the only subject of Marco’s affections. 

He decided to try something. “So you’re the one Marco went on a date with?”

Mario blushed. “Uh, y-yeah,” he stammered. 

“Do you like him?”

“Yes, I mean, um, yeah, he’s cool.” Mario’s aim for nonchalance missed by a mile.

The sudden urge to sabotage came over Erik. There was nothing more that he wanted than to feed this boy with some stupid lie, slap him in the face and send him on his way, away from Marco, _Erik’s_ Marco.

But that was the issue. Marco wasn’t his. And would likely never be his.

And Erik, being the good friend he was, couldn’t sabotage anything that might make Marco happy. Really, that was all he wanted; to see Marco happy.

“Well he seems to really like you too,” Erik forced a smile.

“Does he!” Mario exclaimed, then blushed crimson.  


“Yeah.” 

“Hey, thanks, Erik, right?” Mario said, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks for telling me.”

Erik plastered on his smile even more, to the point that it began to hurt. “No problem, Mario.”

That was a lie if there ever was one.

…

When Benedikt turned up to the detention room (it had taken him a little while to find it as he’d never actually been there before) his heart sunk. Mats Hummels was slouching back in his seat, a smirk on his stupid, beautiful face. Of course. Of course the day he got detention Mats had it too. What a coincidence.

To his dismay, the supervising teacher directed him to the seat in front of the football player. Mats seemed to find both this and his presence in general amusing as he leaned forward and murmured “Fancy seeing you here,” into Benedikt’s ear. 

Benni felt his cheeks flush crimson and glared at him. 

Mats also seemed to find amusement in annoying Benedikt throughout the course of the detention. He wouldn’t stop tapping his foot against Benni’s chair, and even threw a few scrunched up bits of paper at him in the attempt to get his attention. Benni sent him numerous pointed glares. 

Even when the supervisor told Mats off, he persisted to kick Benni’s chair. 

“Asshole,” Benedikt muttered under his breath. Mats just smirked.

When the session ended, he tried to get away from Mats as quickly as possible, but to no avail; the footballer caught him up and said (with the trademark smirk on his face) “Never thought I’d see the day when you got detention.”

“Did you see the food fight in the cafeteria?”

Mats nodded.

“Well then. I got detention. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going home.”

“You should start fights more often. Detention is fun,” Mats yelled after him. Benni turned around and glared at him, then rounded a corner and Mats disappeared from view.

“Asshole.” He muttered again.

…

Erik got a text from Marco on Sunday afternoon asking if he wanted to come over. He obliged, of course. But the moment he stepped through the door he wanted to go back home.

“Mario and I went on another date,” Marco told him, grinning from ear to ear. 

Erik forced a smile and raised his eyebrows. “And? Did you kiss?”

Marco shook his head. “Peck on the cheek. But I think he likes me, I really do. And I… I like him, I like him a lot Erik.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Erik said, rubbing his friend’s back. Marco hadn’t stopped grinning and it made Erik want to burst into tears. He was losing Marco. This was it. 

“He’s such a gentleman and he’s so sweet and funny and he likes Justin Bieber and I just - he’s _perfect_ Erik!”

“I’m sure he is.”

If Erik looked strained, Marco didn’t notice for he was too busy rabbiting on about Mario-perfect-Götze. 

He went home and cried into his pillow.

…

Xabi and Miro were sitting on Philipp's bedroom floor, while the man himself lounged on a bean bag. Miro and Philipp were in the midst of a MarioKart race, but neither were really paying attention.

"What's with you and Mesut, Xabs?" Miro asked.

"Nothing," the Spaniard said, not defensively, but in a tone that suggested he might be hiding something.

Philipp looked over (he'd crashed into the water anyway.) "Do you like him? You do don't you!"

"No, I don't. He's just... Intriguing, that's all."

"Jesus Alonso," Miro laughed. "You need to get laid."

"I'm not a slut like you, Klose," Xabi shot back, smirking.

"I'll have you know I haven't slept with anyone for ages. Hummels is the slut."

"Yeah Xabi, he keeps whining about it," Philipp snorted. “No I reckon he's waiting for Müller."

And the way Miro blushed at Thomas' name sent the other two into fits of laughter.

"Mighty king Miro brought to his knees by little Thomas Müller!" Xabi crowed.

"Miro wishes he was on his knees for Thomas," Philipp smirked then yelped when Miroslav hit him.

"You seriously like him?" Xabi asked.

"Yeah," Miroslav said, his ears still pink.

Xabi cooed and Miro threw his controller at him. "Fuck off, Alonso."

"I bet you'll be super pleased when Jogi starts you both up front in the first game!"

"Maybe get a bit too excited in goal celebrations…"

“Throw in a kiss maybe?”

Miro groaned, covering his face with his hands. "No. I think he's hot, okay, let's just leave it at that."

"So you just want to get into his pants," Xabi smirked.

"No! Jesus no! But he's way younger than us, it's likely that he hasn't got any experience whatsoever. I mean look at him, he's so innocent and cute. And you can both shut up because I don't see either of you two with significant others, and Tom and I are going on a date this weekend so there. I'm not just trying to get into his pants."

"Awh!" Xabi squealed. “You and _Tom!_ ”

"Miro's finally settling down," Fips sighed.

"When's the wedding? Can I be best man?"

"No _I'm_ best man!"

“Per will be the best man at this rate. You two won’t even be invited to the wedding.”

“And he doesn’t even deny his love!” Xavi clutched at his heart dramatically, while Philipp wiped away an imaginary tear. 

“I hate both of you so much,” Miroslav grumbled, and turned back to the Xbox.

…

Benedikt was meeting Mesut for coffee - because they were _that_ sort of mature teenage boys, Benni liked to think. Sometimes Mesut would order one of the fluffy milk things that were usually reserved for children just to spite him and his espresso, but the coffee outings had become a regular thing. Today, they talked about Thomas. 

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just make up,” Mesut said, surveying Benni over the rim of his cappuccino. “And I know you don’t have a legitimate reason.”

“Shut up. He’s being a dick.”

“So are you.”

“Fine. He’s being a dick, I’m being a dick, it’s a lose/lose situation.”

“That’s true.”

“He also dumped a cafeteria tray on my head,” Benni pointed out.

“Yes,” Mesut laughed. “Because you rolled your eyes at the guy he’s crushing on, who happens to be a really nice guy.”  
  
“Isn’t he a bit of a slut? I’ve heard things - “

“Oh and Hummels isn’t?” Mesut raised his eyebrows.

“Shut up, I don’t even like him.”

“So we’re back to hating him? Cool.”

“Not hating him… Just thoroughly disliking him.”

“You’ll be pining after him again in a couple of days.”

“No I won’t.”

“Whatever.”

“So does Thomas really actually properly like Miroslav?” Benedikt drained his cup and settled back into his seat. 

Mesut shrugged. “I think so. I mean he’s gone on and on and on about how good looking he is - not unlike you with bloody Mats Hummels - “

“Oh shut up.”

“ - but yes, I think he genuinely likes him.”

“How did Thomas even get him to notice him?”  


“Trials,” Mesut said, knowing the significance of the word, and moving quickly on. “Asked for his number. They text all the time. And Miroslav likes him back. Won’t shut up about him in Spanish.”

“Good for Thomas,” Benedikt said with a raise of his eyebrows.

Mesut rolled his eyes. “Seriously, grow up, Benni.”

The pianist raised his hands as if to say he’d done nothing wrong. “What? I said good for him!”

Mesut gave him an exasperated look.

“How is Spanish, by the way?” Benedikt changed the subject yet again.

“Xabi’s tutoring me. I’m not doing the best.”

Benedikt waved a hand. “You’ll be fine, especially with him.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

“He seems nice.”

Mesut snorted. “Oh would you look at that, news flash, Benedikt Höwedes admits that maybe a footballer could be ‘nice’, someone call the asylum I think he’s going cr-“

Benedikt swatted at him across the table. “I’m making an effort here,” he laughed.

“Good. Now make it for Thomas.”

Benedikt hated admitting that Mesut was right. This was becoming a habit.

They went their separate ways, and Benedikt walked down to the bus station. Coincidences were happening far too often for his liking these days. 

Mats Hummels was skateboarding towards him - yes, he was actually skate boarding, another cliché to add to the list, but God, was it hot. “Höwedes,” he grinned, and plopped down into the seat next to him. Benedikt didn’t like the last name address. “So do you come here often?”

Benedikt rolled his eyes. “We’re in a bus station, _Hummels._ ”

“Yes I can see that.” That stupid smirk was making its return. “So I ask my question again, do you come here often?”  


Benni gave him a look as if to say _‘Are you serious’_ then just shook his head. “If I want to catch a bus. Why else would I come here?”

Mats just grinned at him. 

“Why are you even talking to me?” Benedikt asked disbelievingly. “Either be nice, or just leave me alone.”

“I am being nice, aren’t I?” Mats said.

“I don’t know.”

Mats just shrugged. “Whatever.” He gave Benni what he probably thought was a light punch on the shoulder - but actually hurt quite a bit - then stood up. “See you at school, yeah?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Have a nice weekend.” Mats put the emphasis on the ‘nice’ and then winked at him. Benni just glared and watched Mats skateboard away.

…

Jogi called a meeting for the team to discuss trainings and such. He also did some big speech about his expectations for the year - Thomas, along with the other newbies, listened attentively, while the others seemed to be not so serious, Bastian and Lukas seemed to be laughing about something unknown, while Per was picking at his nails looking rather bored. Miroslav was looking over at Thomas, to his delight.

“Even though we placed second in the league, and third in the cup, I want more this year, I know we can do it, I know we have the potential and I don’t know how many more coaching years I have left in me so I want to just win the bloody double, okay boys?”

There was a round of nods, and though Mr Löw’s intensity seemed to scare a few of the younger, newer players, this seemed to be normal. They performed the usual formalities of writing down contact details and preferred positions and days for training, then the coach dismissed them and busied off some place elsewhere. 

"Müller I need to talk to you," Mats said, making a beeline for him.

"Uh, okay..."

He waved to Mesut mouthing "I'll see you soon" then couldn't help shooting a smile at Miroslav, who was still looking over at him and returned the gesture.

"It's about Benedikt," Mats said quietly as the room emptied. 

"I'm not really the best person to talk to about that seeing as he's ignoring me at the moment."

Mats made a face. “Has he got something against me?”

“Benni has something against everybody. You’re probably no different.”

“Because like, we did that project together and I thought we were friends, and now he just glares at me all the time like he used to - is that normal?”

“Yes, that’s normal.”

“I don’t understand him,” Mats groaned.

“He can be an asshole.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“So can you.”

“Yeah, I got that too.”

“Why are you so interested in Benni anyway?”

Mats shrugged. “I just wanted to know if there was genuine reason behind the glaring or if his face is permanently stuck like that.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He’s pissed off at everyone at the moment.”

Mats nodded. “He’s an interesting person.”

Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

Mats ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “See you later, Thomas.” And with that, he left the room, leaving Thomas rather confused. He shrugged it off, trying to remind himself that Benni was pissed off at him (and so he shouldn’t care less about things to do with him) and followed the way Mats had gone.

Miroslav was leaning casually against the wall outside. “Hey,” he said, shooting an uncharacteristically shy smile at Thomas.

“Hi,” Thomas grinned. Miro pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him. 

“Listen I was just wondering what you’re doing this weekend?”

“Uh, nothing, why?”

Miroslav sent him another shy smile. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“I’d love to,” Thomas replied.

“Cool. How does Saturday sound?”

“It sounds extremely good,” Thomas grinned. “I’ll text you my address.” 

“Are we not phoning tonight?” Miroslav pouted. 

“I have to go to dinner with some family friends,” Thomas sighed. “But I think I can text you.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you later, Tom.”

Miroslav walked away while Thomas headed for the cafeteria. He was standing in the lunch queue when Lukas and Bastian sidled up to him. “Thomas.”

“Hey,” he grinned.

“We were wondering if you wanted to come sit with us?” Bastian said.

“Mesut can come too, you guys don’t have to sit with those losers over there.”

Thomas glared at them. “‘Those losers’ are my friends, thank you very much. And no. I don’t want to come sit with you if you’re just going to be horrible to people you know nothing about. Sorry. See you at practice.”

And with that Thomas picked up his tray and headed back to his group, leaving a dumbfounded Lukas and Bastian in his wake. He sat down, and began eating his food, stabbing his pasta rather violently; he couldn’t believe they had the nerve.

Benni scowled over at him. “What did your new best friends want?” He said sourly.

Thomas’ fork clattered onto the table. Mesut reached for a tray just in case they started throwing food again and he would need to take cover. 

“As a matter of fact, Benedikt, they wanted to know if I wanted to sit with their group instead of “those losers over there,” but no, I told them straight up that you losers are my friends. But if you’re not going to be my friend I can easily take them up on their offer.”

The pianist flushed crimson. “Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh.”_ Thomas glared at him.

“I think you owe them an apology Benni,” Marco said quietly.

Benni looked down at his food, then up at his friends, and nodded. “Yeah. I do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick, I didn’t understand what football meant to you guys, and I just wanted you to know I’m happy for you, and I’m proud of you, and from now on I’m going to support you guys because you guys are my best friends.”

Mesut was smiling and gave Benni a hug. Thomas looked considerably less frosty than moments before. “Apology accepted. You don’t even have to come to our games if you don’t want to, you know that.”

Benni shrugged, a smile creeping onto his face. “Meh, there’s always Mats Hummels to look at if I get bored.”

Thomas laughed. Benni joined in, and soon they were all laughing and back to teasing Benedikt about his crush. _Good._ Thomas thought. Things were back to normal.

…

Marco and Mario spent their third date bowling. Marco didn’t know how they’d ended up back at his house, lying next to each other on their fronts on the bed playing video games, but they had. Mario was thrashing him at FIFA - probably because of the fact he was a bit preoccupied freaking out over how close their arms were to each other and every time he so much as flinched he’d brush against Mario. When Mario won - again - he leaned into Marco, laughing. “You really suck at this.” 

So. Much. Physical. Contact. Marco could have kissed Mario’s forehead if he wanted to. 

He couldn’t get a coherent sentence out, so he just muttered something about the bathroom, then shot out of the room. 

When he returned, he found Mario standing at his desk, looking at the photo display on the wall above. It was an impressive collection - a mix of scenery, his family, his friends, a _lot_ of Thomas doing something ridiculous - and Marco was rather proud of it. 

Mario had evidently heard him come in, but didn’t turn around as he said “This is so cool, you know.”

Marco shrugged. “I like to take photos. It’s not that great.”

“It is,” Mario turned to him. “It’s like a document of your life, but in a more creative way than keeping a diary.” He looked back up at the expanse of photos tacked to the wall. “It’s cool.”

Marco reached for the Instax Polaroid camera that sat on his desk. “Here, smile.”

The other boy did as he was told, and pulled peace fingers, and when the photo came out, Marco stuck it on the wall along with the rest. He grabbed a pen, and scribbled a caption on the bottom; _First photo of Mario_

Mario took a different coloured pen and, grinning at Marco, drew a smiley face and a little heart next to his name. “And there will be many more to come.”

…

Thomas got a call just as he was doing his shoelaces up. He smiled at the contact name like he did every time, _particularly_ that emoji, and answered. “Hello?” 

“I’m outside your house,” came Miroslav’s voice. Thomas felt his heart beat faster, hearing the lilt to Miro’s words that meant he was probably smiling; there was nothing that excited him more than to think that Miroslav Klose was happy to see him. “I’m walking up the front steps.”

“Why are you so punctual?” Thomas exclaimed, positioning the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could tie his other shoe up. They were going ice skating for their date, something Thomas had suggested and Miroslav had agreed on immediately, looking rather surprised but pleased.

“I’m actually three minutes late according to my watch. Okay I’m knocking on the door. See you in a sec.”

Thomas hung up, checked his hair in the mirror, then shot downstairs to find his Miroslav (looking perfect as usual and holding a modest bunch of flowers) talking to his mother.

“Hey,” Miro flashed him a little smile. “These are for you.”

“Thank you so much,” Thomas grinned back. “They’re beautiful. Can you put them in a vase, Mama?”  
  
“ _Please?”_ His mother wagged a finger at him but nodded. “I’m going out at 7 and your father’s working the late shift, so you’ll have to find your own way home, and sort dinner for yourself. You’ve got your key, so I’ll lock up if you’re not back before I leave.” She turned to Miro. “It was very nice to meet you. Have fun!” She pecked a disgruntled Thomas on the cheek, then waved her son and a chuckling Miroslav out the door.

“So I’m ‘telephone boy’ then?” Miro smirked as they walked to his car. 

“Oh god,” Thomas groaned. 

“You talked to them about me?” Miroslav looked satisfied as he opened the door for Thomas.

“I talk to them about everything really,” he shrugged.

Miroslav got in his side. “That’s cool.”

“Thank you for the flowers,” Thomas said as Miroslav started the car and pulled out of Thomas’ street. 

“No problem. I’m glad you like them. You look good, by the way.” He caught Thomas’ gaze and held it for a few seconds, the edges of his mouth quirking in amusement as Thomas blushed, then blushed even more for blushing as it was a rather unfamiliar action for him - and goddamn Miro had reduced him to an embarrassed mess, his stomach flipping and his cheeks burning. Damn Miroslav Klose and everything he was. 

“I - uh - thanks, you look good too, but you always look good so…” Thomas trailed off, and pointedly looked out the window, therefore missing Miroslav’s smile.

It was a short drive, and soon they were hiring skates and wrapping up warm. “Okay, it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Thomas warned, standing up a little shakily. 

“I should have brought a camera,” Miroslav replied, straightening up and smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. And if you’re not, I’m sure it’ll be entertaining.”

They made their way onto the rink, and true to his word, Thomas wasn’t the best. Miroslav, in all his gracefulness, looked thoroughly at ease as he glided around adults and dodged falling children. It had not been five minutes before Thomas had fallen on his bum. Miroslav chuckled and pulled him up, and didn’t let go of his hand, instead he turned to he was skating backwards and guided Thomas, all the while smiling that shy smile Thomas loved.

He’d be lying if the he said the idea to ice skate hadn’t been a ploy to do exactly this with Miroslav.

After some tips and teaching from Miroslav, which of course involved lots of holding hands and arms around waists, Thomas started to get into the swing of it, and initiated a game of tag. “You’re it!” He exclaimed, then staggered away. Miroslav followed him much more gracefully and caught up with him. The game was rather one sided as Miroslav would catch Thomas much quicker than Thomas would Miroslav. Eventually Miro seemed to start going a bit easy on him, still laughing at his tumbles, but always there to give Thomas a hand.

“Last time,” Thomas told Miro as he caught him and tagged him - their touch lingered far longer than they both knew to be necessary. His date looked even more gorgeous than usual, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his hair ruffled and those beautiful brown eyes sparkling with mischief as he counted to ten then came after Thomas. 

The younger boy gave in and let Miroslav catch him, laughing as Miro realised he was moving too fast and rocketed into him, welcoming Miroslav’s arms around his waist so they didn’t fall over. 

They were both laughing, and again, Miro’s arms lingered around his waist as he looked up at Thomas, smiling. “Shall we call it a day?” He asked, and the younger boy nodded. They ended up in the café at the skate rink, sharing a bowl of fries between them and their hands clasping mugs of hot chocolate (everything paid for by Miroslav at the senior’s insistence.)

“You weren’t even that bad in the end,” Miro chuckled, dipping his chip in the pool of sauce that Thomas refused to touch. 

“Only with your help,” Thomas smirked back, making sure to lock gazes with his date. “How are you even so good at it?”

“Oh you flatter me. I used to skate a lot as a kid.”

“At your parents’ million Euro chalet?” Thomas teased.

“Excuse me, but it’s _actually_ worth 4 million Euros,” Miroslav laughed, tossing a chip at him. 

“Now now, don’t throw food, Klose, I thought I was the immature one.”

“Oh you are.” Miro chucked another chip at him, and he tried to catch it in his mouth and failed miserably.

“But seriously, you’re so rich, I bet little Miro had all the fancy brand ski outfits.”

Miro blushed a little. He found it a bit uncomfortable when people talked about his parents’ wealth. 

“Hey, I’m just teasing you,” Thomas said, seeming to realise he’d hit a sensitive subject. He reached for Miroslav’s hand across the table. “You look cute when you blush.”

Miroslav blushed even more and tossed a handful of chips at Thomas, who dodged, meaning a few hit the person in the booth behind them. 

“Sorry!” Miroslav gasped while Thomas struggled to contain his laughter. The man gingerly picked the fries off his shoulder and glared at the two boys. 

“Gosh, Miroslav, don’t throw food, you’re an embarrassment.”

Miro glared at him, then yanked him out of the café (the fries weren't going to be eaten). Of course he couldn’t keep this up long and he was soon smiling again. “You’re lucky I like you,” he told Thomas, whose eyebrows shot up.

“Like, or _like_ like?”  
  
“Are you twelve?”

“No, but you are, throwing food in a restaurant - ”

Miroslav gave him a playful shove. “Shut up.”

“So do you _like_ like me?” Thomas asked as they got into the car. 

“Maybe."

“Maybe yes, or maybe no?”  
  
“Maybe.”

“ _Miroooooooo_.”

“Thomas.”

“Hate you.”

Miroslav feigned hurt. “But Thomas, I _like_ like you, now you hate me what am I going to do?”

A huge grin split across Thomas’ face and his heart raced at Miroslav’s confession. “Good. I _like_ like you too.”

“You _are_ twelve.”

Thomas wagged a finger. “If you’d thrown a couple more chips they might have even kicked - ”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Miroslav sighed.

“Nope!” Thomas said triumphantly. 

Miro drove him home, but as he got out, Thomas asked “Do you want to come in?”

Miroslav looked surprised for a second, then nodded.

They’d barely set foot in the house when Thomas leaned in and kissed him.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while!! My Macbook is fixed, but I've been at school in Switzerland, and have not had much time to write, but will try my best to update as soon as possible. Hope you guys will stick with me :) 
> 
> As usual, I would love some feedback!!! Comment, kudos, subscribe, whatever you please, it means a lot to me!
> 
> Thanks guys, hope you liked it, sorry again for the long wait!!!  
> \- C


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benni is in for a roller coaster ride, Thomas does a lot of kissing, and Toni is suddenly an Agony Aunt, much to his dismay.

_Holy fuck - miro_  

_You remember when I assumed that Thomas was inexperienced? - miro_

_I was so so so wrong - miro_

_Jesus that boy is a good kisser - miro_

_And I mean holy shit he is good - miro_

_His hands were going everywhere - miro_

_EVERYWHERE XABI - miro_

_I HAD A FUCKING STIFFY BY THE END OF OUR MAKE OUT SESSION AND THE FUCKER LOOKED SO DAMN PLEASED ABOUT IT - miro_

_XABI REPLY U ASS - miro_

_r u wanking - miro_

_I bet ur wanking - miro_

_Actually I doubt you’re even up you old grandpa - miro_  

_Maybe these notifications will wake you up - miro_

_xabi xabi xabi - miro_

_xabiiiiiiiiiii - miro_

_XABI - miro_

_It’s only 9.30 for god’s sake - miro_

_It’s 9.30 on a Saturday night and Thomas just kissed me on our first date and you’re asleep and I hate you - miro_

_XABIER ALONSO YOU GINGER-PUBED FUCKFACE - miro_

_h8 u and ur sensible bedtime- miro_  

_I'm texting fips instead fuck you - miro_

When Xabi woke up and checked his phone for the time - he couldn’t be late for Mesut - these were the texts that he found. He smirked, and typed out a reply, whilst hurrying around getting ready.

_So I can tell Mesut he was right? - xabi_

He didn’t receive a reply until around half an hour later - while Miroslav stayed up late and woke late, Xabi slept early and woke early.

_Too right you can - miro_  

_Where were you last night?????? - miro_

_Like you said, sleeping :D - xabi_

_Have I mentioned you’re a grandpa? - miro_

_Hahahahahahh I’m off to Mesut’s talk later - xabi_

Xabi locked his phone and set off. Soon he was pulling off his shoes and stepping into the Özil household.

“Do you want a drink? Or something to eat?” Mesut was hovering awkwardly in the kitchen. 

“Nah, I’m fine thanks,” Xabi shot him what he hoped was a comforting smile. _Only Mesut would get nervous in his own house,_ he thought. The boy’s anxiety made him worry, he didn’t like the fact that the cellist was intimidated by him, not at all. Mesut seemed to relax, much to Xabi’s reassurance. He got himself a can of lemonade and they sat down at the table to make a start. Mesut’s mother made an appearance shortly into their study, and looked pleasantly surprised to see Xabi. 

“Who’s this?”

“Xabi,” Mesut said, going slightly pink, and Xabi realised that Mesut probably hadn’t told his parents about the Spanish test, and that he most likely didn’t want to. Xabi got the vibe that Mesut had pressure on him at home 

“We’re working on a presentation for Spanish,” Xabi said before Mesut could say anything else. “Group work, you know, it’s an important part of the grade.” The cellist shot him a grateful look as his mother nodded.

“Well, I’m off. You boys study hard.” She gave Mesut a meaningful look (Xabi’s suspicions were confirmed) and disappeared out the door.

“Thanks,” Mesut said, breathing what seemed to be a sigh of relief. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s nothing. I feel the same way with my parents.”

They got to work on vocabulary, going over both that in the previous test and the list that they’d been given for the following.

Despite Mesut’s rather bad test result, it seemed he actually knew the vocabulary well.

“Dude, you're pretty much fine,” Xabi said after they’d run through the lists a few times. “What happened with the test?”

The other boy ran a hand through his hair and blushed. Again, Xabi cringed at the thought of Mesut being worried or anxious around him. “I got nervous,” he said softly. “I panicked. Forgot everything. It happens quite a bit, I mean… I get nervous quite a bit. It’s not… It’s not a big deal but… I’m really scared of failure. Sometimes it makes me freak out and -“ He blushed deeper still. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You probably think I’m weird.”

Xabi shook his head adamantly. “Not at all. It’s totally understandable. You’re in a new class, first test, of course you’re going to be nervous.”

Mesut looked up at him and smiled slightly. 

“Hey,” Xabi continued. “If you’re ever freaking out about a test or something, I’m always here to help. I get the same way sometimes, our school is unbelievably pressuring.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to… To have someone who understands. Thanks.” 

By now Xabi was nearly 100% sure that Mesut had pushy parents. What he was describing sounded like some sort of anxiety, and Xabi had no doubt that it was fuelled by the mother he had just met. 

“And Mesut?”

“Yeah?” 

“We’re friends now, of course you can tell me this stuff.”

Mesut smiled at him gratefully. “Thanks, Xabi.”

“No problem at all.”

…

Ever since his encounter with Mats at the train station, Benedikt lay awake at night a lot thinking about the footballer. Like he’d told Mats, he couldn’t tell what he was really like, whether the asshole was just a persona, or if he was in fact tricking Benni in to thinking that he was a nice person.  It really was doing his head in, and he hated himself for spending so much time thinking about it, not only in principle; why was he devoting this much time to Mats bloody Hummels, but also in the way that it made him physically exhausted trying to guess what Mats would do back at school on Monday.

He, Mesut and Toni had their trio performance Sunday night, and they all went out for dinner afterwards. Toni seemed to be the only one who noticed something was up as he kept sending Benni covert glances throughout the meal and eventually voiced whatever he was thinking as they prepared to head home.

“You alright, Benni?”

“Yeah, fine,” Benedikt replied. It was, of course, a lie. He was exhausted. He’d been up till 2 in the morning thinking about a damn boy.

“You’re not worried about the performance are you? You played perfectly.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Toni frowned. “Are you _sure_ you’re sure?”

“Yes,” Benni said forcefully, surprising even himself a little. _Get over this,_ he told himself. _You are wasting your time._

“Okay, well I’m here to talk if you want,” Toni offered, and the way he said it, with that suggestive lilt to his voice, made Benni realise that he was probably very easy to read, and that Toni would of course know that he was not fine, and that something was plaguing his thoughts, eating him up inside, like a disease without a cure. 

He couldn’t physically stop himself thinking about Mats Hummels.

Toni gave him a hug, then waved goodbye, leaving Benni alone with his thoughts. They weren’t much of a comfort.

... 

Erik sat on the school bus opposite Christoph Kramer, with whom he was making polite conversation, whilst trying to subtly dig up some information on Mario Götze and the ‘friendship’ he had with Marco.

Christoph was nice, Erik thought. He supposed Mario was nice too, it’s just it was hard for him to like someone who was currently ruining Erik’s life by taking away the boy he happened to be in love with and now would never have a chance with.

André sat next to Erik, his headphones in, his thumbs flying across the screen of his phone. Every once in a while, he’d laugh at something the mysterious text recipient had said, then give Erik a defensive look.

Why was _everyone_ involved with a significant other? 

Erik was young, but strangely mature beyond his years. He had told himself before he’d come to Weisburg not to get caught up in wanting a relationship. It was a lot harder to put that into practice.

He remembered when he was younger and girls would whisper and giggle about him, and he knew it was about him, for he knew, in a humble sort of way, that he was decent looking. He liked the way he looked. He didn’t think he was Mats Hummels hot, but he liked the way he looked.

But no matter how many girls had fawned over him, he’d only ever had eyes for the boy with the camera next door. It had been hard, growing up in a strongly Christian family and being gay, and his parents were still oblivious to the fact that no, he didn’t want to date the lovely new girl down the road, thank you very much 

Christoph was naïvely gullible, Erik thought, and gave him enough information about Mario’s feelings in regards to Marco for him to be satisfied. He felt like a snoop, and he’d sworn to himself not to meddle with his friend’s crush on Mario, but this couldn’t hurt could it? 

This wouldn’t make it hurt more? 

Erik didn’t know. All he knew was the burning jealousy he had for Mario, that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried.

…

Mats had Calculus first period on Monday morning. Cons: he hated Calculus. Pros: his desk had a great view of Benedikt Höwedes.

It pained him that he’d been in a class with this boy for over a year now, and he hadn’t noticed how beautiful he was; Mats loved the blush that coloured his cheeks every time he got the slightest bit embarrassed, and those eyes, those eyes were something else. He liked the way Benedikt really immersed himself in whatever he was doing; the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and how his fringe wouldvery nearly flop in his eyes if he leaned over far enough. 

Mats spent most of the lesson staring unabashedly at the other boy across the classroom. Benedikt didn’t catch him once, but Manuel, who sat next to him, kept nudging him every so often.

His friends now knew of his intentions with the pianist. Lukas, who’d been very drunk at the time, had laughed for a good five minutes before realising he was actually serious. 

Benedikt was now scratching his nose in concentration, his eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the sheet of paper in front of him (Mats, who was actually decent at the subject, had finished it rather quickly.) When the bell rang, he seemed to curse under his breath. While Mats packed up his things, he eavesdropped with ease.

“I’m going to the library," Benni told Toni and Thomas. "I need to get this done or it’s going to annoy me for the rest of the day. I’ll see you in German." 

Mats followed him down to the library at a distance. Benni was poring over his Calculus notes as he walked, bumping into various people on the relatively short journey to the library. He hurried inside, while Mats leant against the wall, figuring he should wait a little before entering. He’d been to the library very little in his years at Weisburg. His grades were adequate, and he’d much rather spend his lunchtimes eating or talking or kicking a ball around than doing _more_ work. But if it meant he was a little further forward in the seemingly impossible task of pursuing Benedikt Höwedes, then of course, he was going to the library.

…

Benni was halfway through an equation when someone sat down opposite him. He had a good train of thought going, and so he didn’t look up until he’d finished the problem and checked it. Mats Hummels sat before him and it took all of Benni’s restraint not to let out a groan at the sight of him. As usual, he was smirking, though it wasn’t quite a smirk, more a mischievous grin. 

“Hi,” Mats said, in a voice far too loud for the library, causing people to look around at who was making the noise. 

“What are you doing here?” Benni hissed. 

Mats kept grinning. “Studying,” he said, in the same painfully loud voice. “Isn’t that what most people do at the library?” 

Benedikt glared at him, to let him know that he was well aware that Mats did not mean to study in the library at all. The footballer was now retrieving his water bottle from his bag. “You can’t have that in here!” Benni shout-whispered.

“Why not?” Mats said and took a swig.

Shit. The librarian had looked over now and Benedikt scrambled to grab Mats’ bottle but it was too late, and in the end he got himself in trouble too. 

“Drinking, and disturbing others,” the librarian wagged a finger at them. “Both of you out, now."

Benni started to protest but wilted under her stern gaze. Defeatedly, he collected his things and made towards the exit. Mats followed him and when they were both outside and the door had swung shut, Benni rounded on him. “Thanks a lot,” he spat. “You got me kicked out of the library, and now I can’t to this stupid problem and - ” He just glowered at Mats pointedly.

 “I can help you with the Calc if you want…” Mats offered. Benedikt noted that he hadn’t apologised, not that he really cared, but God, did this boy have any manners?

“No, thank you,” Benni said coldly, and walked away. He realised halfway down the corridor that Mats probably could have helped him rather well, but he just couldn’t stand being around him for another second. It was infuriating, if only Mats was different then Benni might have had a boyfriend by now. He turned a corner and was somehow faced with the footballer once more. He gawked at him - he must have run all the way around the block to get back here so fast. 

“I can help you with the problem,” Mats said. Benni’s mouth moved but no words came out. Truth be told, he was rather impressed at Mats’ dedication to helping him - maybe the boy was sorry; he doubted it, but still… He seemed pretty intent on giving Benni a hand.

The footballer sat down on the hallway floor. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll show you how to do it.” 

And so Benni did, and it was as if Mats had become a different person in the handful of seconds in which Benni had walked away down the corridor. He sad down with Mats on the floor and together they did Calculus for the remainder of the break.

“Uh… Thanks,” Benedikt said uncertainly as the bell rang. 

“Sorry I got you kicked out of the library,” Mats replied - not entirely sincerely; he still looked a little amused at Benni’s annoyance - but it was enough of an apology to satisfy Benedikt.

“Well, I have Music now so…” he trailed off.

Mats nodded. “I’ve got Sport. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” Benni spluttered. Mats grinned at him, and walked off. He stared after him for a few seconds, then wrenched his gaze away. Suddenly, Toni was at his side, a confused expression on his face. 

“Did you just sit on the floor with Mats Hummels for fifteen minutes doing Calculus?” He asked incredulously.

 “I think I did,” Benni said, nodding disbelievingly. “I think I did.”

…

"Why do they make us wear this?" Manuel tugged at the lapels of his school blazer, trying to pull it tighter around him to protect from the cold. They were walking back up to the main campus having finished a game of hockey for sport, a journey that in autumn and winter time was far too long. "They know we have to walk places in winter, why don't we have a nice coat or something?"

"Because knowing our school, it would probably be hideous," Mats motioned to the pinstriped tie around his neck. "They'd make it bright blue or something stupid like that. And really, do you think Klinsmann - oh Jesus Christ, _really_? Are you not cold?"

They had turned a corner and were met with the sight of Thomas and Miroslav making out up against a wall. Mats had noticed that Thomas had changed in an awful hurry, and now he knew why. The two boys were both without their blazers, Thomas' hands either side of Miro’s head, while Miro’s were up the back of Thomas’ shirt. They sprung apart and had the decency to look at least a little ashamed, as Mats laughed and Manuel just rolled his eyes.

"Uh hi," Miroslav began. "Um... We figured no one would come outside it was too cold," Miroslav muttered, leaning back on the wall he'd previously been kissed against. Both his cheeks, and Thomas' were flushed red, and his usually pristine white shirt was rumpled, the top few buttons undone.

"Are you starting something like a mile high club?" Mats smirked. “Making out in dumb places?”

"Jesus, no!" Miro exclaimed, looking scandalised at even the thought, while Thomas appeared not to reject the suggestion. "It's more private outside."

Mats and Manuel arched their eyebrows in perfect synchronisation.

Miro glared back at them, while Thomas seemed rather amused by the whole situation. 

"Next class starts in two minutes," Mats said finally. "Are you coming or not?"

Thomas and Miroslav scrambled to pick up their discarded blazers and ties and followed the other two back into the main school. 

"I'll see you later," Miroslav told Thomas as they reached the stairs. He tipped the younger boy a wink, which Thomas responded to by blowing him a kiss, earning a synchronised groan from their friends.

"You two are atrocious," Manuel told him, as they climbed the stairs to Biology. 

Thomas just shrugged, wriggling his tie over his head. "Gotta take the opportunities when you're presented with them. Ugh, this is so crooked, can you do it for me?"

Mats obliged, a mischievous grin finding its way onto his face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Thomas frowned at him. He didn’t realise his mistake until half way through the next class.

”Thomas," Toni began, his grin truly shiteating. "Why do you have a Parent Teacher Association badge and a Scholars tie?"

Thomas' eyes went wide and he stared down at his torso. "Shit!" He exclaimed. "This isn't mine!"

"What did you get up to during the break, Thomas?" Manu called across the classroom and collapsed into giggles.

"Did we actually - oh god we actually swapped clothes by accident oh my god. And  Miro has his PTA meeting after school!” His hand shot into the air. "Sir can I go to the bathroom please?”

The teacher didn't seem to care that Thomas was evidently not going to the bathroom. "If you can tell me what the definition of osmosis is, then sure." 

Thomas performed the required task and scarpered, pressing his phone to his ear before he'd even left the room. “How the fuck did we manage to switch both our ties and our blazers, where the fuck is your class…” He disappeared out the door.

Across the classroom, Mats just smirked.

…

Benni went down to the practice rooms in the music department after school. He had his piano diploma exam sometime during the following year and was already preparing.  It was a good distraction, not only from school, but from Mats. The pieces were coming along well, and he was feeling confident that if he kept this up, he’d ace the exam.

"You're really good." A voice at the door made Benedikt jump out of his skin. When he saw that the person standing watching him was Mats Hummels, he almost forgot how to breathe. His fingers halted over the keys, and he felt a blush climbing up his neck.

"Don't stop on my account," Mats said, stepping into the room and making Benedikt freak out even more. 

"I was just practising," Benedikt choked out, before realising what a cliché that line was. Mats seemed to think the same as a crooked smirk appeared for a second on his face. The footballer was still in his training kit, but he dumped his bag on the ground and slid onto the stool next to Benedikt .

"Play," he instructed, motioning to the book on the stand.

Benedikt obliged. He was practically shaking with nerves as he played, and Mats' leg brushing against his and their proximity did not help matters. He could also feel Mats' gaze intense on his hands, and thank god he could play this piece well.

It was a very long sonata, so he finished at the end of a movement and looked expectantly at Mats.

"You're really good," the footballer repeated, grinning at Benedikt.

"Th-thank you," Benni stammered.

Mats smirked again, and Benedikt had the urge to wipe it off his face it made him so jittery, except it was also extremely attractive. 

Then Mats threw him off guard completely. "Why are you so nervous around me?" He asked. "Well, nervous, or just plain pissed off, but I feel like exasperation is a permanent mood of yours..." 

Benedikt was now crimson. "I'm n-not n-nervous... And I'm not _always_ pissed off."

Mats raised his eyebrows. "Seriously. Why?" 

"I... You... You're Mats Hummels? And I'm just... I'm just me." He ran a hand through his hair embarrassedly.

"Yeah I'm Mats Hummels, so what?" 

"We..." Benedikt trailed off, and he felt like Mats was enjoying this far too much. "You're cool. And I'm not."

"You're cool," Mats said pointedly, and Benedikt felt his heart swell. 

"You know what I mean," Benedikt pouted. "People like me aren't friends with people like you." 

"Why not?" 

"Because we just aren't."

 "What if I want to be?"

Mats was so sincere that Benedikt almost fell off the piano stool. "You what?" 

"I want to. Be friends with you, that is." 

"Is this a prank?" Benedikt choked out.

"Why would this be a prank?" Mats said, that god damn beautiful smirk returning to his lips. "I really enjoyed that project we did. I want to get to know you better, you seem like a cool person."

“You want to be… to be friends?”

“Yes.”

Benedikt was quiet for a moment. “You’re an asshole, then you do something like this, or like you did this morning with the Calculus. I don’t understand you.” He said. “You keep changing, and I don’t know which Mats is the real one.”

“Give me a trial run, then,” Mats said. “I want to be your friend. Let me prove it. Prove to you that the real Mats is not an asshole.”

Benedikt studied him for a few seconds, then decided that he really did mean it and nodded in concession. “Fine.”

“Cool. Listen, what are you doing this weekend?"

Benedikt's heart was racing so fast he thought it might rip a hole through his chest. “N-nothing."

"Do you want to come hang with me?"

“W-will you be nice?”

“I promise. I don’t want to mess up my shot at being your friend.” His eyes sparkled with mischief and Benedikt couldn’t help but gaze into their depths, wondering just how Mats planned this was going to work. When he didn’t reply - he may or may not have got a little lost in the aforementioned eyes - Mats cleared his throat and asked brightly: "So are we on?" 

“I - uh - yeah, sure,” Benni spluttered. 

"Cool. See you around, Höwedes." 

Mats retrieved his kitbag and tipped Benedikt a wink before disappearing out the door.

Extremely flustered, Benedikt let out the huge breath he'd been holding in. "That did not just happen," he whispered to himself, but the goosebumps on his arms and the racing of his heart told him otherwise.

...

Toni was an introvert, but had never thought of himself as the strong, silent type - he instead left that title to Miroslav Klose in all his coolness and collectiveness. That being said, he liked to think he could notice things more so than others. For example, when André’s parents had split up he’d been the first to realise something off, he’d been the first one to call Benni out on his constant staring at Mats Hummels, and so, it was only right that he was the one who picked up that something wasn’t quite right with Erik, particularly every time Marco mentioned Mario Götze.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Toni could swear he would see the younger boy’s eyebrows furrow, and the shadow of a scowl fall over his usually cheerful face.

“You don’t like Mario?” He approached Erik after school, when the younger boy was at his locker. The hallway was relatively empty, and Toni spoke softly, so they had no chance of being overheard.

Erik blushed crimson and stammered “What gives you that idea?”

“Come on, Erik, you look like you want to slap Marco every time he so much as says the boy’s name.”

“No I don’t.”

Toni just raised his eyebrows, letting Erik know that he could see straight through him.

“It’s not that I don’t like Mario, it’s just…” He trailed off and gesticulated defeatedly.

“Marco?" Toni said, trying to keep the triumph off his face.

Erik's head snapped around. "How do you know?"

"Don't worry, you're not that obvious."

"I was obvious enough for you to be able to tell. What if he knows?"

"He doesn't know, trust me Durm." 

Erik let out a truly defeated sigh, shutting his locker and falling into step next to Toni. “I know he'll never look at me like that,” he said sadly. "I'm just the kid he grew up with, what a cliché, I know. But how could I not fall for him, with his stupid earring and his stupid face and - " he groaned. "You have no idea of how jealous I am of _stupid_ Mario Götze."

"I don't mean to be a dick or anything, but it's kinda your fault it’s not you he’s gushing about. Marco wasn't going to stay single forever."

Erik looked pained. “Oh I know, I know. But how was I supposed to tell him?" 

Toni shrugged.

“You’re great help,” Erik said sarcastically.

“If I’m honest with you, Durmi, if you’d told him, or made a move, you’d probably be dating him by now. I mean, you’re a good looking guy…”

“And you say you’re straight…” Erik smirked and bumped Toni’s shoulder with his own.

“No, but I’m serious, you guys are good friends, it would have worked out probably.”

“Don’t make me think about what could have happened,” Erik scowled. “I lost my chance. Now I deal with it." He sighed. "He’s happy, that’s all that matters.”

Toni didn’t reply, just looked over at him pensively.

“What?” Erik said almost defensively as if he’d said something insulting.

“Marco’s lucky to have you as a friend, that’s all." 

“Forever the ‘great friend.’ I’m a friend and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

Toni furrowed his eyebrows. “Hey, don’t be like that. One day, someone’s going to come along and love you as much as you deserve, and they will love you because you are that ‘great friend’ who never says anything bad about anyone if they can’t help it. And you’ll get over Marco, I promise, there will be a guy who will treat you right, and buy you flowers and take you out, and I will be there to say ‘I told you so.’ Have faith, okay?”

It was Erik’s turn not to reply, but it was because he was at a loss for words at Toni’s spiel. The older boy cocked an eyebrow inquisitively at him.

Erik just grinned, feeling a lot happier.

“What!” Toni exclaimed.

“Never knew you were such a romantic, Kroos.”

…

“Oh do I have a story for you.” This was how Benni greeted Toni the day after ‘The Piano Incident.’ He proceeded to drag the other boy down the corridor so they were out of earshot of the few band geeks milling around the music department.  Toni listened intently to the story, (which involved a lot of swearing in regards to Mats’ apparently ‘godlike’ appearance) and smiled as Benni wailed “What do I do?" 

“I think,” Toni began, “that we need to consider the old schoolyard mantra; if a boy bullies you, he likes you.”

Benni groaned. "This wasn't meant to happen, Toni! Like I always thought he was extremely attractive but now I'm actually falling for him, I wasn’t meant to fall for Mats Hummels, Toni!’

Toni wondered when he’d it had been announced he was an official Agony Aunt. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

"You're not very good at giving advice." 

"Well what do you want to hear? That Mats doesn't like you and you're not hopelessly in love with him?" 

"No, I just..." Benni trailed off, and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, Toni. _Fuck_."

"Look at it this way Benni, you've been pining after him for a year now and you've got the chance you've always wanted, so just take it. He's got to be into you."

"But what if he's just an arrogant asshole?"

"Well that's what you've thought of him for the past year, despite also seeming to think that the sun shines out of his every orifice."

"I do _not_ think that the sun shines out of his every orifice," Benni said indignantly.

Toni looked rather unimpressed. “You’re in denial, my friend.”

“I am _not_ in denial.” 

Toni smirked smugly. 

 Benni glared at him. “Oh shut up.”

…

"I think I'm in love," a wistful Thomas fell into the seat next to Toni at the lunch table.

"Oh?" Toni said.

"Miroslav Klose is the most perfect boy I have ever met."

"I still can't believe he actually likes you back. Maybe there's something wrong with his brain. Have you asked him if he was dropped as a baby?"

"You're just jealous," Thomas poked his tongue out.

"Don't think I'm jealous but that's okay." He patted Thomas on the shoulder. "Good for you."

"I'm _this_ close to dating Miroslav Klose," Thomas made a gap between his thumb and forefinger. "Everyone should be jealous."  

"You're also a bragger," Toni laughed.

Miroslav, who'd just entered the cafeteria with Xabi, chose this moment to appear and peck Thomas on the cheek.  Thomas leapt up and gave him a hug, while Xabi hovered awkwardly at Miroslav's shoulder, shooting an exasperated look at Toni in regards to their friends. Toni returned it, and they shared a laugh.  Miroslav and Thomas were wrapped up in their own world, however, and did not notice that they were the butt of a joke. 

They eventually announced they were going to eat lunch together, earning a sigh from Xabi - “I literally stood here waiting for you for ten minutes and now you’re not even coming!” - and a roll of the eyes from Toni. 

“See you later,” Thomas waved jovially at his friend, while Xabi deliberately ignored Miro’s attempt at a fist-bump in mock exasperation, and they walked away, Miroslav’s hand on the small of Thomas’ back, guiding him towards an empty table somewhere out the way.

Xabi made a little wave gesture at Toni and went to leave as well, but Toni stopped him. “Hey, you think those two are good for each other?”

The Spaniard just grinned. “Definitely.” 

Mesut, Erik and André arrived at this moment, and chatted to Xabi for a little while, before he finally departed for his own friends. The two younger boys were discussing something that had happened in their class, so Mesut seemed to just address Toni when he spoke.

“Toni?” He said inquisitively, an almost nervous expression flitting across his face. 

“Yeah?” Toni replied. _God,_ he thought. _I can not deal with any more heartfelt confessions._ “If it’s something deep and meaningful, could we save it for another time? 

Mesut frowned. “Uh, it’s not… Deep and meaningful? I just wanted to know if you’re coming to the friendly on Friday.” 

“Oh,” Toni laughed. “Yeah, of course I am. Sorry about that.”

“I don’t really understand what you meant." 

“It seems I’ve become a confessional priest this week.”

Mesut raised his eyebrows, laughing. “Sounds fun." 

“It’s fine,” Toni said. “But if I hear Benni um-ing and ah-ing one more bloody time about Mats Hummels, I’m… God I… I’m throwing myself out the closest window.”

Mesut cracked up laughing. “I’m with you on that one, mate."

…

They arrived at Calculus on Tuesday afternoon to find a smug looking Mr Bierhoff holding a piece of paper and directing student to desks.

"Not a seating plan," Benni groaned. Bierhoff had been threatening them with it for the past two weeks, but none of them had thought he'd actually follow through.

"Müller, next to Neuer. Khedira, with Kroos. Reus, you're with Schweinsteiger."

Benni's heart plummeted as he realised it was alphabetical, and him being Höwedes, that only meant one thing; "Höwedes, next to Hummels." 

“Seriously?” Benni muttered under his breath as he took a seat next to a smug looking Mats. He suppose this was ample opportunity to be the judge of Mats' character, but still, he wasn't a fan of the arrangement.

"Afternoon," Mats grinned. 

Benedikt didn’t reply.

"You know Benni, if I'm going to be nice, it has to work both ways. And if you _are_ nice, I can help you with Calculus again!" 

Benni glared at him, and didn't reply again as Bierhoff had started the class.

Mats didn't say anything else to him until they'd been set exercises and Benni had determinedly started scribbling at his paper, ignoring the way Mats lounged back in his chair, tapping his pencil against the edge of the desk.

"You know," Mats said after a while, "the way you poke your tongue out when you concentrate is very cute." 

Benni's pencil fell out of his hand and onto the table with a clatter. He felt his cheeks burn and he looked away quickly.

"Are you not going to respond to my compliment?" Mats said, his voice tinged with amusement. "I'm hurt. I'm not kidding you know, you look really cute."

Benni felt light headed, both from knowing that Mats found him cute, and from the extent to which he was blushing; he imagined he looked nothing short of a tomato.

"No reply? You disappoint me, Benedikt." 

Benni finally turned to look at him. "Listen here, okay, I don't understand how you can go from a complete asshole one second to flirting with me the next. Either you're secretly two different people, I  don't know, identical twins or something - " Mats snorted at this. "- or you're just playing me and I don't want to be played. Decide who you are around me, and then I'll think about replying to your compliments, or whatever you want." He decided to attempt to play Mats at his own game. "And I'll think about whether I want to give some of my own."

Mats looked a little taken aback at his spiel, but the expression slid into a grin almost instantly. "Cool."

"Cool?" Benni raised his eyebrows. 

"Yep. Now come on, get back to work, or we'll be kicked out of here as well."

Benni rolled his eyes, but couldn't prevent a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

... 

"Bastian?" Marco nudged the boy sitting next to him. He didn't think he'd had one conversation with the footballer until now. Bastian tugged at his earphones and turned his attention to Marco - Marco could have sworn he'd been staring at Lukas Podolski and Mesut a little way away, but he couldn't be sure.

"See, um, I'm really good friends with Benni and I don't want to see him get hurt so... What is Mats trying to achieve?" 

Bastian followed his gaze to Mats and Benni's desk and he smiled a shrewd smile. "Mats works in mysterious ways. He either wants a fuck, or he actually genuinely likes Höwedes and if that's the case, you can be sure he won't give up until he's got him on his arm."

"I don't think Benni wants... 'A fuck.'"

Bastian just grinned. "If it makes you feel any better, my money's on Mats actually liking him."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's a bit of an dramatic drunk. Honest and all that. We had a little get together on the weekend and he wouldn't stop talking about how cute Höwedes is. Rather entertaining actually."

"Seriously?" Marco said incredulously. "It sounds just like Benni. He doesn't shut up about bloody Mats."

Bastian laughed softly. "I can see how that would be annoying. Especially as he seems to be rather pissed off at Mats all the time." He looked thoughtful for a second. "Or just pissed off in general all the time."

"Exactly!" Marco exclaimed, then realised he'd spoken rather loudly, but these developments in Benni's crush were _very_ interesting. He lowered his voice and said "Because he's been crushing on Mats for God knows how long, but he refuses to do anything about it!"

They looked over at the other two boys, who were talking in hushed whispers just like they were, and Mats appeared to be helping Benni. "Give it time, I say." Bastian said evenly. "If Mats wants it, be sure of one thing; he won't stop until he gets it."

...

They won the friendly on Friday convincingly, with Thomas and Robert both scoring a brace, and Xabi knocking in a last minute free kick to make the final score 5-0. Mr Löw didn’t seem incredibly ready to shower with them appreciation though, as he said it was only a friendly, and against a team that had not challenged them in the slightest. Thomas was a little scared for a moment that he’d signed up for something far too serious for him, but at the end of his post match speech, Jogi ended up commending them all on a good game, despite the dismal opposition. Thomas emerged from the changing room feeling happy and was met with Toni, Marco and Benni, who’d all come along to watch.

“Much more entertaining than I’d previously thought football could be,” Benni smirked, giving Thomas a hug. “You’re really damn good, you know that? Mesut too.” 

Thomas grinned back at him. After their previous feuds, it really meant a lot, what Benedikt was telling him now. 

They chatted about the game until Miroslav sidled up to Thomas. “Hey,” he said to Thomas (neither footballer noticed the glances shared by the other three boys.) 

“Hey,” Thomas replied. “Miro, this is Toni, Benni and Marco. Toni, Benni, Marco, this is Miro.”

“Nice to finally meet the guy Thomas won’t shut up about,” Toni smirked, shaking Miro’s hand in formalities. 

Thomas, who seldom got embarrassed, blushed, while Miroslav looked satisfied. “It’s good to meet you guys too,” he replied, then turned his attention back towards Thomas. “Party at Basti’s,” Miroslav said. “You coming? 

“Course I am,” Thomas said. He said his goodbyes to his friends and joined Miro, who slipped an arm around his waist as they headed to the carpark. 

“Nice goal today,” Miro said.

“Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without that beautiful cross though.”

“Some people might say that the cross was better than the goal,” Miro smirked.

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up in mock indignation. “Um, no. My goal was pure class.”

“So running into the goalpost and nearly knocking yourself out after you’d scored was pure class?”

“Definitely." 

“You’re an idiot,” Miroslav laughed, leaning in to peck him on the lips. They’d reached the car and the senior went to pull away but Thomas stopped him, shoving him against the paintwork and kissing him properly. 

“Get a room!” Came a voice they both recognised as Bastian Schweinsteiger’s. They broke apart and were met with the sight of Bastian hanging out the window of Lukas’ car, while Manuel leaned over Mesut and Xabi in the back to take pictures with his phone.

Thomas pulled the finger at them.

"I'll pick up drinks on my way," Miroslav told Bastian, whose face lit up.

"Yes! Spirits! Continue to make out as much as you like." And with that his blonde head disappeared back into the car and Lukas drove away. 

Thomas liked Miro's car. It was evident the senior had money to splash around. Miroslav drove an old BMW that Thomas guessed was maybe circa the 1950s, and that had been done up and fitted with fancy accessories - Thomas' favourite of which was a seriously good sound system. Like usual, the first thing he did was to plug his phone into the dock and shuffle his songs.  Miro rolled his eyes as Thomas started to sing along very badly to the electro pop song blasting through the speakers. It didn't help that the song was in English, Thomas only knew half the words, and the underlying factor; he couldn't sing to save his life.

"I can see why you picked art over music," Miroslav said and Thomas punched him on the shoulder.

"That was mean! Take that back!”

They’d stopped at a red light so Miroslav just leaned across and pecked him on the cheek. Thomas felt this was a satisfactory apology and resumed his singing, much to Miro’s chagrin, and so t he senior left him in the car when he got out at the bottle shop; “You’re singing along to One Direction, Tom, I’m picking the drinks.”

When they arrived at Bastian’s everyone was already drinking. Thomas whispered a quick “Talk to you later,” in Miroslav’s ear before pecking his cheek in passing and heading over to Mesut, who to his surprise, was sipping a bottle of bourbon and cola. 

They all got drunk. That was the only way to describe the party, and Thomas loved it. With his group, they would often have a few drinks if it was a special occasion, but it was clear that the footballers did this sort of thing a lot. Bastian and Lukas were playing beer pong in hysterics, Manuel was dancing drunkenly on top of the kitchen bench to the deafening song on the stereo, and even Philipp, who Thomas had assumed was not the party-type, was evidently a little tipsy.

He chatted with Mesut for a little while, then got roped into a game of musical chairs by an extremely drunk Bastian. It was all hilariously funny, and Thomas found himself drinking more and more until he’d forgotten how many beers he’d had and god, Miroslav looked so damn attractive that he couldn't resist. All his concerns were long gone, and he stumbled across the room in the direction of the senior. 

“Have I mentioned,” Thomas slurred, leaning against the wall and looking down at Miro. “That you are really fucking hot?” 

“You’re so drunk,” Miroslav smirked, then grabbed his face and kissed him hard. He tasted like alcohol but the kiss was really good, and Thomas couldn't get enough, pushing him against the wall and practically shoving his tongue down Miroslav's throat. It was sloppy, but he didn't care, and he doubted Miroslav did either as he was kissing back just as passionately.  He felt the senior's hands run down his sides, and oh god, this was better than anything he'd dreamed of, and he wanted to get drunk and kiss Miroslav for the rest of his life. A drunk Mats tumbled into them and they broke apart so as not too fall over, Miroslav's arms locking around him. The senior looked up at him, smiling adoringly at him, his eyes sparkling. "You look pretty damn good yourself, babe," he said, then kissed Thomas once more.

…

It was Mesut’s first time drinking more than one beer, though he hadn’t told anyone this apart from Xabi. He was now sitting on the couch next to Mats and Robert, who seemed to be oddly clingy, watching Thomas talk to Miroslav on the other side of the room. They’d recently finished a rather full on public display of affection, which had caught the attention of the entire party and been caught on numerous phones. He was happy it had worked out so well for Thomas; if possible, he looked even happier than he usually did as he flirted with the senior. 

“Thomas is quite incredible,” Philipp remarked, making Mesut jump as slid onto the sofa next to the cellist. He smiled apologetically and followed Mesut’s gaze to the other side of the room where Thomas was leaning against the wall talking to Miroslav, who he was standing ever so close to. “Sorry. You were watching them, right?”

“Yeah,” said Mesut.

“These days Miro just walks around with this permanent soppy smile on his face, and I can only imagine that’s Thomas’ doing.” 

“They are really cute together,” Mesut grinned. 

“Oh for God’s sake, he’s giggling now,” Philipp exclaimed, waving a hand in their direction. "Miroslav Klose doesn’t giggle. Miroslav Klose laughs quietly at refined, classy humour. I don’t think I’ve seen him giggle since we were in kindergarten.”

“Thomas has that kind of effect on people,” Mesut said matter-of-factly. 

“You know, I’m really glad you guys decided to try out,” Philipp said. “The boys in your year…” He trailed off and looked over to where Bastian was knocking back a row of shots while being cheered on by Lukas and a small crowd. “They aren’t the most mature. And I’ve never liked the way there’s the divisions between the groups. I think you guys are the change we needed to see. So thank you.”

Mesut was rather speechless. He hadn’t been expecting that at all from the captain.

Philipp seemed to realise this as he just stood up, patted Mesut on the shoulder and said “Good game today. I’ll see you later, have fun okay?”

Mesut nodded and Philipp began to walk away, but turned back and motioned to Thomas and Miroslav, who were making out again. “Keep an eye on those two, will you?”

“Will do,” Mesut grinned. 

…

At nearly 2 in the morning, Benedikt was regretting all the Coke he’d drunk at the game; his mind was unable to rest from all the caffeine. He grabbed his phone and opened Facebook, then refreshed his news feed. The first post up was a new album of Sami Khedira's, entitled ‘G _ood way to start a new season…"_  

The photos showed the team in various stages of drunkenness. There was a rather entertaining one of Miroslav kissing Thomas up against a wall, with the younger boy’s hands depicted very clearly to be groping at Miro’s ass. Benni was surprised to see Mesut with a drink in his hand, but he supposed that it was inevitable really (he laughed a little at the photo of his friend being given a piggy back by Xabi Alonso.)

Then he came to a photo that made his heart stop. Mats Hummels and Robert Lewandowski, kissing. Not just peck on the lips kissing. Full on making out kissing. 

And he knew then that he had well and truly fallen for Mats Hummels. Jealousy burned through him like wildfire. If possible, this intensified exponentially when he clicked to the next photo and saw Mats and the other boy sitting together on the couch, Mats’ arm around his shoulders, his head close to Robert’s ear and evidently whispering something to him.

Benni had passed the harmless crush stage a long time ago. He didn’t just find Mats physically appealing, now he craved a relationship, he wanted to be with Mats, to hold hands, go on dates and do couply things that couples did, for Mats to be his, to kiss and touch.

He also knew nothing about relationships.  But he wanted one. With Mats Hummels of _all_ people.

He was fucked. He was well and truly fucked.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, readers! Sorry it's been so long!!! Still going to school here in Switzerland, and when I go back, my school starts up again, so I'm going to be busy, but will try update as soon as I can. I hope you are still enjoying this and liked the slightly longer chapter (I tried to make up for the very long overdue.)
> 
> As always, please don't hesitate to tell me what you think! All feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Once again, I'm so so so sorry for the wait!!! Please bear with me :) (Also can we try get to 200 kudos? It would make me very happy)
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An announcement is made, one pair share a kiss, and Erik Durm has no luck

Robert Lewandowski wasn’t dumb. Though he had undeniably enjoyed hooking up with Mats, he wasn’t stupid. He knew hearteyes when he saw them. Mats was clearly into Benedikt Höwedes, and he wasn’t going to disrupt that - a drunken hook up wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

He woke up groggy and disoriented, under a blanket he did not remember obtaining, his head pounding like a drum. Mats was still asleep on the floor a few feet away from him, also covered by a blanket. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Robert reached for his phone and read the time.

“Morning,” a voice said. Bastian was crouched on the ground behind him, trying to get a stain from the fluffy white rug.

Robert dragged a hand across his eyes and grinned. “Morning. Good party. You hungover?”

“A bit. The adrenaline that came with needing to get this place cleaned up before my parents get back kind of dulled it a bit.”

Instantly, Robert shot up to help him, but it was a bit too quick and just made his head hurt even more. “Oh god,” he groaned.

“There’s panadol and glasses in the kitchen,” Bastian said with a laugh. Robert took the medicine and made a start with helping the other boy in tidying up the house. In the lounge along with Mats were Thomas and Miro, the older boy splayed across the couch, while the other was curled up on a bean bag. Their joined hands rested on the edge of the couch for everyone to see; Robert remembered they hadn’t exactly been subtle the previous night.

“You and Mats, huh?” Bastian said after a little while. Robert was busy putting the upturned CD rack back together and replacing the discs to their slots. He froze, and kept his back to the other boy.

“Not really,” he answered. He could feel Bastian’s gaze on him, and it made him itch because he knew Bastian didn’t approve. He didn’t exactly approve of himself either.

“I think you should probably stay away from him. He’s finally fallen for someone and I don’t want anyone to ruin that. Otherwise…” he waved a hand dismissively as if his point was obvious. “He just has these… one night stands.”

“I wasn’t a one night stand,” Robert turned around now and glared at him. “And I’m not stupid, Bastian. It was just a hookup. We were both of our faces. Benedikt can have him.”

Bastian raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t fully believe the striker’s words, but nodded. “Good.”

“What time is it?” Both boys looked over to see that Thomas had woken, and was now looking around dazedly.

“Nearly 11,” Bastian told him.

“Shit,” Thomas swore.

“What?”

“I’ve got the grandparents round for lunch,” he leapt up, then saw the boy on the couch. He dropped a kiss to Miro’s forehead, grinned as the sleeping boy stirred a little, then turned to Robert. “Keep your dirty paws off him, Lewandowski.”

“Christ, why does everyone think I’m a slut?”

Thomas shrugged, while Bastian raised his eyebrows and stifled a snort.

“Fuck you guys.”

They shared a look. A few weeks ago they’d barely even been friends. Now they had some sort of brotherly alliance that had sprung up almost instantly. 

Robert just scowled at them.

…

_Incoming call: mesut_

Xabi woke to the sound of his ringtone instead of his alarm. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?” Mesut asked nervously on the other end of the line.

“Yeah,” Xabi said, more harshly than he meant to. “I needed to be up anyway,” he added, hoping Mesut didn’t take it personally. He wasn’t a morning person, especially not after he’d got semi-drunk the previous night and hadn’t returned home till 3 in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” Mesut said quickly, sounding meek and apologetic and Xabi cursed inwardly.

“It’s fine, seriously, I would have been woken up by my alarm in another fifteen minutes,” Xabi ran a hand through his hair and swung his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “What are you calling for?” He winced. “Sorry, that sounded like I don’t want to talk to you. I didn’t really get much sleep. I do want to talk to you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mesut chuckled a bit. “I just wanted to check we’re still on for today, and to ask if maybe we could go to the library instead of my house?”

“We are, and sure thing,” Xabi said. He heaved himself up and crossed to the wardrobe to find something to wear.

“Cool. I’ll meet you there, is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Xabi echoed and hung up.

Xabi was still half asleep even when he turned up at the library. Mesut gave him a wave. “Not too hungover?” he said with a small smile.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Xabi said with a wry chuckle. “But I really need a coffee.”

They ended up staying in the cafe, and deciding to study there, for the shop had extremely comfy couches arranged around tables that looked like it had been made for students.

“What are we doing today?” Xabi asked, taking a sip of his piping hot drink.

“Chemistry. I have a test next week.”  
  
 They got to work. Mesut didn’t really seem to be himself, Xabi thought. He was learning whatever Xabi taught him rather rigorously, with almost an air of desperation.

“Hey,” Xabi said after he’d listened to two straight minutes of Mesut reciting solubility rules over and over. “Are you alright?”

Mesut ducked his head down quickly, but Xabi didn’t miss the blush that rose on his cheeks.

“Mesut?”

The younger boy looked up at him. “My mum kind of… she yelled at me. This morning. About my Chemistry. I only got an A- on my last test.”

 _Only an A-_ , Xabi seethed internally. The amount of pressure Mesut’s parents were putting on him wasn’t healthy.

“Is that why you didn’t want to study at home?” he asked softly.

Mesut nodded.

“You’re going to do just fine,” Xabi said determinedly. “And you can’t let them let you think otherwise, okay?”

“It’s just hard… I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to please them. I know they’re your parents, but you don’t have to do anything for them. And you seem like you’ve got this all down. You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Xabi,” Mesut said with a little smile. “Really. Thank you.”

“It’s not problem. You could have done it all by yourself anyway. But I’m here for you if you need me, okay?”

Mesut nodded. “Okay.”

…

Today in Calculus they were doing divisions of polynomials. Benni wanted to ask Mats for help, for he had no clue what he was doing and the footballer evidently did as he'd finished their worksheet in record time, but that would mean shattering the frosty pretence he'd done a sterling job of keeping up. He'd said barely three words to the other boy, and he presumed Mats had realised he wasn't his usual self and pestered him no more. He wondered if Mats wanted to know the real reason behind his anger.

Benni looked across the class at Robert Lewandowski. He was decently good looking. Nothing special, but with his hair styled well he could manage about a seven (Mats was a ten on a _bad_ day). Not really Benni’s type, but he imagined that Robert had a good body under his school uniform.

Lewandowski had his head down, but every two minutes or so, he would look up and over at Mats. Benni burned with something he couldn’t place. It was a mixture of jealousy and a weird sort of protective anger that he knew he shouldn’t be harbouring; Mats wasn’t his to be protective over (no matter how much he wished he was.)

The footballer himself was oblivious, to both Robert's attention and Benni looking over at the boy he'd hooked up with the previous weekend.

Benni had messaged him on Facebook asking to reschedule their hanging out. He’d felt pathetic doing so, but he couldn’t face him, it would be admitting that the crush had reached levels he was scared to admit; it wasn’t just a crush, he liked Mats Hummels. He’d fallen for Mats Hummels. Even just thinking about it made him shudder.

He didn’t know if Mats knew he was quietly seething. He doubted it. In fact, he was about 90% sure Mats didn’t really care about him at all. The footballer was picking at his nails, slouched back in his chair, his finished equations sitting in front of him. It wasn’t fair how good he was at Calculus. And, it pissed Benni off that Mats was better at something than him.

Neither boy said goodbye when the bell rang. Benni shoved his hands in his pockets and followed his friends down to their next class. He’d just have to focus on not staring at Mats for the next forty five minutes.

…

“Now he just ignores me. I don’t get what I did.” Bastian was listening half-heartedly to Mats’ complaints about Benedikt Höwedes as they walked down to German.

“He messaged me on Facebook and said he couldn’t hang out, and then he didn’t say anything to me. I thought I had this in the bag. I don’t understand how he changed so much in just a few days and - are you even listening to me, Basti?”

“Sorry what?” Bastian blinked. He may or may not have just got a bit distracted staring at Lukas’ ass.

Mats huffed at him. “Jesus. I said, I don’t understand how he’s changed so much in a few days. I had him wrapped around my little finger on Friday and now he hardly looks at me.”

“Maybe he saw you’d hooked up with Robert,” Bastian suggested.

“ _Fucking_ Lewandowski,” Mats cursed. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I was completely off my face too, mate. Didn’t even know you’d kissed him till the next morning and I checked Facebook. You do realise Benedikt would have seen it?”

“Yes, I do realise,” Mats shot back, then let out a sigh. “He probably thinks I’m a slut.”

“You are a slut.”

“Robert’s the slut.”

“You’re just as bad.”

“You’re not helping, Basti.”

“It’s the truth.”

Mats gave him an exasperated look. “Fuck off. See, look, there he is.” Bastian followed his gaze to where Benedikt was standing with his friends. “He’s purposefully ignoring me. He always looks at me. He knows I’m here. He just refuses to acknowledge me.”

“Not my problem,” Bastian shrugged.

“You’re a prick.”

“Slut.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Language, Mr Hummels.” Their teacher had arrived, and gave Mats a stern look, earning a snort from Bastian.

They were ushered inside, taking their usual seats - this was one of the only classes where they hadn’t been forced into a seating plan by an irate teacher. Lukas fell into the chair next to Bastian.

“You should hear Mats,” Bastian told him. “Won’t shut up about Höwedes. It’s unbearable.”

“I still can’t believe he’s serious,” Lukas replied, arranging his books on the table. Bastian tried not to stare at the other boy’s hands as they fiddled with the stationery.

“Right!” Their teacher clapped his hands together and the class fell silent. “Before we get into it, I have an announcement.” He rummaged through his satchel and produced a leaflet that read “Camp 2014,” in bold on the front. The rest of the writing was too small to read, but everyone knew that it would be the venues of both the Upper Camp, for their year and the year above, and Lower, for kids in the year below. The class broke into chatter, and the teacher was probably seriously regretting mentioning this at the start of class. He handed the leaflet to the first row, who happened to be Manuel and Mats. The goalkeeper brandished it in the air and got to his feet, motioning for the class to be silent.

“Upper Camp 2014 will be held at Königssee Lake Camp.”  
 The class exploded into conversation once more. The teacher looked well and truly fed up. “Fine,” he yelled. “We can have the period off, just do the reading for homework.” He wrote the page numbers of the book they were reading on the board, then took a seat at his desk and opened his computer leaving the boys to talk amongst themselves.

“I can’t believe they gave the ski trip to the newbies. They never do that.”

“I hate skiing,” Lukas chimed in. “This looks cool.” He’d googled the place, and was scrolling through the pictures of the lake and the activities.

“Sir,” Bastian asked. Their teacher looked up with an unimpressed look on his face. “Do you know which teachers are accompanying for Upper Camp?”

“Pretty sure it’s Mr Löw, Mr Bierhoff and Mr Guardiola. Mr Flick, Miss Siemans and Mr Yubashi are taking Lower.”

“Jogi! Yes!”

“And Guardiola’s pretty cool too.”

Lukas was scowling however. “If Bierhoff assigns us rooms I think I’ll punch him in the face.”

Bastian snorted. “Please do, I’d love to see you get sent home.”

…

“Did you hear about Upper Camp?” Miroslav asked Thomas. They were eating lunch together in their usual secluded corner of the cafeteria, their legs tangled together beneath the table, Miroslav sliding their ankles together in a game of footsies.

The younger boy nodded. “It looks pretty cool. I’m not the biggest fan of skiing, so I’m happy.”

Miroslav shrugged. “I don’t mind skiing. Anything will be fun with you though.”

Thomas grinned at him.

“And to be honest,” Miro carried on, “with your co-ordination, I’d be freaking out the entire time that you were going to fall and crack your head open.”

Thomas kicked him under the table. Miroslav just laughed and took another bite of his sandwich.

“You know, I thought you were this polite, conscientious role model,” Thomas scowled. “You’re actually a little bitch.”

“Only to those I care about most,” Miro said in a singsong voice. It really was incredible how much he’d opened up to Thomas in just a few weeks. With Philipp and Xabi it had taken months for him to be comfortable, but with Thomas everything felt natural. The teasing way with which the younger boy conducted their conversations instead of making Miroslav nervous in fact made him more relaxed. He could play around with Thomas, and he liked that. He liked being relaxed, in this aspect of his life, when all others were reasonably hectic.

He reached for Thomas’ hand across the table, and the younger boy let him take it. “I really am excited for camp with you,” he said.

“Are seniors allowed to room with juniors?”

“What have you got planned, Müller?” Miroslav’s eyebrows arched.

Thomas just laughed.

“I doubt we will get roomed together. They usually split up the year levels. Or at least they did last year.”

“I’ll just sneak in then.”

Miro laughed. “Last year a few boys went out of bounds and Bierhoff had them running laps.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“Sure you won’t.”

“You have no faith in me!”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Again, you’re being a little bitch.” Thomas tried to scowl at him but ended up just laughing. He picked up Miro’s hand and gave it a kiss. “My bio teacher is away so I’ve got a free afternoon.”

“And why are you telling me this after you so liberally called me ‘a little bitch?’” Miro smirked.

“Well maybe if you skipped class we could go do something…” he kissed Miro’s hand again.

“You’re a bad influence on me, Thomas Müller.”

“So yes?”

“I have Economics…”

“And?”

Miroslav just gave him a look as the bell rung. He let go of Thomas’ hand and gave the younger boy a smile instead of an answer.

“Miro! Are we skipping or not?”

The senior hesitated for a second, and then; “I’ll meet you at the gate,” he grinned, gave Thomas a peck on the lips, then headed off to whatever class he had next.

…

“Are you excited for camp?” Mario and Marco were at the latter’s house, sitting cross legged on the bed facing each other. Marco was fiddling around with his camera, taking photos of miscellaneous things to test out the settings. Mario seemed to just be watching him, and every so often when Marco would look up, Mario would be smiling at him bashfully like he’d been caught doing something naughty. Then Marco would raise the camera to his eyes and snap a picture and Mario would laugh and if that wasn’t the cutest thing Marco had ever heard, he didn’t know what was.

“Yeah,” Mario replied. “Everyone says it’s the best time of the year, so it should be good. And I like skiing.”

“Every camp is fun, though Upper is supposed to be better than Lower. There’s all the senior pranks and everything - ”

“How is getting pranked better?”

“Apparently they’ll target people, so I’ve just got to behave and not do anything stupid - ” Mario snorted, and Marco glared at him. “I can be good!”

“I’m going to tell Miro and Fips to go extra hard on you.”

“Oh shut up.” Marco swatted at Mario as the younger boy giggled. “No but please don’t do that.”

“I’m not going to!” Mario laughed even harder at Marco’s concern. The blonde just scowled.

“It sucks you’re in the year above,” said Mario when he’d finally stopped laughing.

“I know,” Marco replied, pouting. “At least there’s next year.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s only a week.”

Mario jutted his bottom lip out in an adorable pout. Marco wanted to take a picture of him. “I’m still going to miss you,” the younger boy said. He reached for Marco’s knee, placing a hand gently over the bare skin, fingering the cuff of his shorts. Marco felt his heart rate increase by fifty beats a minute. A silence hung in the air between them, as Mario manoeuvred himself so that he was kneeling, his hand tracing up Marco’s leg then to his cheek, cupping it softly.

The kiss that followed was something else. It was a bit sloppy, and Marco was painfully conscious that he was probably not a very good kisser, but the fact that Mario had his hands in Marco’s hair overrode this and he let himself get lost in it. When they broke apart, Mario looked as flustered as Marco felt.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since I met you,” Mario said breathily, his hands still cupping Marco’s cheeks. Marco was blushing crimson, and all he could do was smile back at the other boy.

Mario kissed him again, sweet and loving, a careful kiss. They parted once more, and grinning, Mario reached for the camera that had fallen from Marco’s grasp during their kiss.

“I think this is an occasion to add to the wall,” and he kissed Marco full on the lips again, raising the camera to take a picture of them.

Marco stared at him with wild eyes as the polaroid slid out. Mario burst out laughing. “I’m not very good at this.”

The picture had only caught the top of their heads. Marco laughed, but it was almost hollow he was in such a state of shock. A good type of shock, but shock all the same.

“Here,” Mario placed his hand on Marco’s knee again, and a shot of electricity seemed to rocket through his body at Mario’s touch. He held out the camera. “You take it.”

“O-okay,” Marco stammered. He doubted he’d be able to string more than two words together.

This time it worked. Mario observed the finished result with a beautiful smile on his face, then grabbed the marker off Marco’s desk. “Can I write on it?” He asked.

“Of course.”

Mario did so, writing ‘First kiss with Mario’ and the date, then doing a row of love hearts. He handed it to Marco, who smiled and got up to tack it on the wall next to the others.

When he turned back around Mario was slouching on the bed, his arms outstretched. Marco arched an eyebrow at him and Mario laughed. “Now come and kiss me again.”

And who was Marco to refuse?

…

Despite his study session with Xabi on the weekend, Mesut was feeling terribly nervous the day of his chemistry test. He'd been up half the night fretting, worried sick about disappointing his parents. 

In Spanish, he could hardly concentrate he was so worked up. His chest felt oddly strained, like someone was squeezing him, suffocating him. He tried to stop his hands shaking. Xabi didn't notice, or if he did, he didn't say anything to Mesut about it. His breathing was all over the show, he couldn't calm down, and when the bell went and the class began to pack up, he couldn't move. Still, Xabi didn't appear to notice, until he'd slung his bag on his back and turned to Mesut. His eyes went wide. "Mesut, are you okay?"

Mutely, Mesut shook his head. Xabi waved Miro away and sank back into his seat, waiting for the class and teacher to leave before placing a hand on Mesut's arm. Mesut knew he would be able to feel him shaking. Xabi looked quite shocked, but quickly composed himself.

"Have you got your test after break?"

Mesut nodded. 

"It's okay," Xabi said, rubbing Mesut's arm lightly. "You're going to be fine."

"I don't want to - to - fail," Mesut's voice shook, and then he hiccuped a sob. 

"Mesut," Xabi exclaimed. "You're not going to fail! You're brilliant at this stuff, you know it all, you're going to be absolutely fine."

He felt a tear trickle down his cheek. "But what if I'm not?" he choked out. He drew in a strangled breath, but none of the air seemed to go to his lungs so he took another one, and another one, and none of them seemed to do any good, and then he was hyperventilating. Poor Xabi looked very overwhelmed as he tried to calm Mesut down. He ended up just wrapping his arms around Mesut in a hug.

"No, you're okay, calm down, please calm down," Xabi said desperately. "Take deep breaths," he detached himself and showed Mesut what to do. "Deep breaths." Mesut tried to copy him, and managed to get a bit of air into his lungs. 

"That's it," Xabi's hand found its way to Mesut's knee and was gripping it rather tightly. "That's it. You're okay. You're okay."

Mesut managed to control his breathing in the end, but couldn't stop himself from crying. "I'm s-sorry," he hiccuped, in between huge, gulping breaths of air.

"What for?" Xabi exclaimed.

"Wasting y-your time."

"You're never wasting my time."

Mesut looked up at him hopelessly, sniffling a bit. Xabi was smiling down at him. His hands were still gripping Mesut - one on his knee, the other on his upper arm. 

"You're okay," Xabi repeated. "You're going to be okay. You don't have to go. We can go to the nurse or something. You've got a good enough reason."

"It's fine," Mesut said softly, without looking at Xabi. "You need to get to your c-class." He dragged a hand across his eyes, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Xabi rummaged in his bag and found a packet of tissues, which he handed to Mesut. He was breathing properly again now, and he'd calmed down. Now he was just ashamed of himself and his anxiety. "Th-thanks," he stammered. The bell rung, and Mesut clambered to his feet finally. Xabi did the same.

“You’re going to be fine,” the older boy placed his hands on Mesut’s shoulders. Mesut looked up at him, bringing his own hand up to rub again at his tear stained face. Xabi’s thumbs were rubbing circles on his shoulders. The Spaniard gave him a tight hug, then picked up his bag off the ground and handed it to him. “You’re going to be absolutely fine. Are you sure you don't want to go to the nurse? Or the counsellor?"

Mesut nodded adamantly. 

"Okay. Are you alright if I go now?”

Mesut nodded again.

“Okay. See you later. You'll be fine.” Xabi gave him a little wave, and a final pat on the back, then hurried off in the direction of his class, talking one last check on Mesut just before he turned the corner.

Mesut slid his backpack on, and walked quickly to his Chemistry class. The teacher was already letting them in and he hurriedly joined the end of the line. As they sat down, Benni shot him a questioning look, but Mesut just shook his head and turned to the paper sitting on the desk in front of him.

It went better than he’d thought it would, considering his breakdown. When they got out, Benni didn’t probe him any further which he was glad for. They passed the footballers table as they entered the cafeteria. Xabi looked up and shot him a smile, but didn’t make an attempt to approach him, which again he was grateful for. He didn’t want everyone knowing he’d had a sort of mental breakdown. The Spaniard simply mouthed “Okay?” to which Mesut nodded. He sat down with a smile and thanked the heavens for Xabi Alonso.

…

They won their first proper football game that afternoon 6-0. Again, it wasn’t a very challenging team, but everyone had given it their all and they were happy with the result, as was Jogi. He gave them all a pat on the back as they jogged into the dressing rooms, pushing each other around and laughing jovially. He gave Mesut an extra tight squeeze on the shoulder; a hat trick and two assists, the boy had fared brilliantly. All thoughts of the morning’s complications were completely forgotten.

After Jogi had finished his customary speech, the boys went off to shower. Mesut was quick, as usual - he didn’t really like getting involved in some of the pranks (namely Lukas attempting to whip everyone on the ass with a wet towel that would leave a mark for days) - but had to wait for Thomas. They were going to Marco’s for some sort of party.

Thomas was taking his sweet time in the showers. Mesut recalled Miro had been in the one next to him and he shuddered at the thought of what might be occurring.

“You okay?” He’d evidently shuddered rather outwardly, as Xabi appeared, hair tousled and in fresh clothes, giving him a concerned look.

Mesut tried not to blush, and said “Yeah, just a bit cold.”

“Are you okay after this morning?” Xabi asked quietly.

“Yeah. I uh… Yeah. You really helped. Thank you.”

“And the test went okay?”

“Yep. I think so.”

“Good, I knew it would.” Xabi smiled at him warmly, and Mesut wondered what good deed he’d done to deserve this wonderful, caring boy’s friendship. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Xabi opened his arms for a hug and Mesut returned it gladly.

Thomas eventually emerged from the showers with Miroslav in tow. The senior pecked him on the cheek and Thomas’ hand shot out to slap Miro’s bum lightly, earning him a wink as the senior walked away from them, mouthing ‘Call me.’

Mesut rolled his eyes. “You guys are too cute,” he said as they headed in the direction of Marco’s house. “Are you official yet?”

Thomas shook his head. “But I hope it’s soon.”

“Thomas! Mesut!” Mario and Christoph were hurrying to catch up with them. “Are you going to Marco’s too?”

They both nodded.

“Cool, Marco just texted me and asked if me and Chris wanted to come,” Mario said eagerly. “Can we walk with you?” 

“Sure.”

“Cool.”

"You guys should come and sit with us at school. Do you know Erik and André? They're in your year."

"Yeah, I know them. We have Biology together." Mario grinned. Christoph nodded. "We might take you up on that offer!"

"Only cos Mario wants to spend as much time with Reus as possible," Christoph added cheekily.

Mario blushed, gave his friend a shove, and didn't even attempt to deny it.

…

It was a school night, but that didn't stop any of them from drinking. Thomas had just hideously lost a round of beer pong so he settled down to watch Benni try beat André. A notification popped up on his phone, a snapchat from Miro.

It was a rather adorable selfie, captioned with _‘what you up to cutie?’_ and a few kissy face emojis.

Thomas grinned and took a quick video of the game going on in front of him, then sent it with the caption _‘just lost horrifically at beer pong wbu’_ and a clumsily drawn heart at the bottom.

The following photo was one of Miro poking his tongue out. _‘you always lose at that.’_ Again there was an line of cute emojis on the end.

Thomas sent him back a selfie. _‘shut up. you’re lucky i like you.’_

The next one made him blush; ' _you’re so cute’_

They carried on with the cute selfies for the next couple of snaps.

_‘no u are’_

_‘you’re cuter’_

_‘youre cutest mwaha i win’_

He sent another one straight after that. _‘they want me to play brb <333’_

When he did return, Benni was holding his phone with a mischievous grin, and Thomas found a lot more snaps sent and received than he had had before. He gave Benni a kick in the leg and promptly sat on him, then sent Miro another photo, this time of the two of them. _‘what did the fucker send u?’_

_“some nice videos of you ;)’_

 Thomas gave Benni another kick. The pianist was laughing his head off.

_‘bet u loved those ;)’_

_‘course i did <3’_

Thomas grinned. Even without Miro here, it was going to be a good night.

…

Erik had been feeling tired, and had almost not come to Marco’s, but had decided he’d better, or Marco would think that something was up. He regretted this decision the instant Mario Götze stepped in the door, and Marco ran to meet him and give him a hug. Toni caught his gaze across the room, and shot him a sympathetic look, before Erik looked away hurriedly.

It was unbearable, having them in the same room. He stuck to talking with the others, trying to get distracted by whatever game Thomas was trying to get him to play, but no matter how much beer pong he played he couldn’t get the jealousy out of his head, and every so often, he couldn’t help but look over at Marco and Mario who seemed to be in their own little world.

Erik knew he was drinking much more than he usually would, but he didn’t care. Marco was practically in Mario’s lap, and Thomas seemed to be getting bored and checking his phone more frequently - Erik had seen some of the snapchats he’d been sending to Miroslav Klose and kept in a sigh. Everyone was getting into relationships, and here he was, stuck pining over a boy who would never look at him twice.

He eventually excused himself to the toilet, and headed upstairs. He did his business, and passed Marco’s room on his way back down. He didn’t know what made him stop, turn around, and go in, but he found himself looking up at Marco’s polaroid wall, and feeling his heart sink.

There was a new addition, a picture of Mario and Marco. Kissing.

_‘First kiss with Mario. <3’_

Erik wanted to cry.

He ran from the room. He needed to leave. He couldn’t handle seeing Mario being all over the boy he was hopelessly crushing on.

“Where are you going?” Toni’s voice sounded as Erik began to pull his shoes on in the doorway.

“I don’t feel too good,” Erik lied. Of course Toni saw straight through him.

“Come on, don’t be like that. We’re here to have a good time.”

“But he’s… with Mario…”

“I know, but just ignore them.” This wasn’t the best of advice, but Erik let himself be pulled back to the party.

The sight he was met with was not a good one, and this time, Toni couldn’t stop Erik.  
 Mario’s hands were everywhere as he kissed Marco. Erik’s knees felt weak, but he ran all the same.

He heard Toni shout after him one more time, but he didn’t turn back. Tears streaming down his face, he let the night swallow him.

…

Marco had a string sectional for orchestra the morning following his party. He really needed to stop getting drunk on school nights. The rehearsal started at 7, which meant he had to get up at 5.30 to be ready in time. It was far too early for anyone to be up, in his opinion.

His mum drove him down  to school, and through the journey, he looked at the photos that had been taken on his phone the previous night. There was an insanely cute one of Mario, that the boy seemed to have taken when Marco was somewhere else. The boy was poking his tongue out, and Marco couldn't help but just stare at it for a good few seconds, before setting it as his wallpaper. 

It had been a good night. All his misgivings about Mario and his friends had gone, and he no longer needed to keep the other boy a secret. He couldn't exactly deny he had a thing with a boy he'd been kissing the previous night.

Memories of their kisses made Marco smile like an idiot. 

But Erik. That was an issue. One second he'd been there, the next he'd gone, and he'd been acting strange lately. Marco was worried, to say the least. But Erik could sort his own life out, he had other matters to deal with, namely Mario Götze and his amazing kisses.

When he saw Erik at their rehearsal, the other boy refused to meet his gaze. Even when Marco approached him and asked where he'd been the previous night, Erik avoided his eyes - he seemed to be looking anywhere but straight at Marco. "I was feeling a bit sick. Sorry."

Marco thought he was lying, but he wasn't sure. 

He watched Erik through the rehearsal. The other boy looked strangely melancholy, and it made Marco itch with curiosity to find out what was up. 

But it seemed that maybe Marco was not as good a friend to Erik as Erik was to Marco, for when he bumped into Mario on his way to his first class, all thoughts of his friend flew from his mind. 

Erik, of course, didn't know what Marco was thinking, but Marco didn't know that every step he took with Mario was another dagger in his friend's fragile heart. Every smile made Erik ache, every laugh, flirty comment and kiss made Erik hate himself. And of course, Marco didn't realise that this was destroying Erik Durm slowly. Slowly, but surely, and there was nothing Erik could do about it, unless he wanted to tell Marco the truth. And of course, that wasn't going to happen.

...

Even after the Robert Lewandowski debacle, Benni was still just as much into Mats as he had been before, and eventually he stopped trying to ignore the other boy. This resulted in Mats eagerly rescheduling their proposed hanging out for another afternoon. And so, Benni found himself stepping into Mats’ rather fancy house, as the footballer chatted away to him.

Mats got them drinks - Benni was impressed that the other boy had remembered he liked chocolate milk - then turned to him. “So. Do you want to play Playstation?"

"I don't really mind."

"We don't have to if you don't want to."

"I don't mind!"

"Benedikt. What do you want to do? There's TV? Or we can watch a movie, or we could just talk if you like?"

"You can call me Benni if you want," Benni mumbled. Then he added "And can we just talk?"

"Sounds good." Mats lead him up to his bedroom anyway, and fell onto a beanbag, motioning for Benedikt to do the same.

"So, Benni, what's your story?" Mats said, popping open his can of coke.

"I - uh - what do you mean story?"

"Tell me about yourself."

So Benedikt did, and found himself relaxing. Mats was in fact was quite a good listener. The footballer seemed particularly interested in his music and consequently asked Benedikt to explain the concept of an orchestra to him.

It was weird, but expected, that Mats knew nothing about this. Benedikt only knew about football because his younger brother played, but of course, Mats had probably never touched a musical instrument in his life. "They all look the same!" Mats was laughing. "There's the violin, then the big violin, then the huge violin."

Benni laughed along with him. "If you let Mesut hear you saying big violin when referring to a cello I would fear for your life."

"Okay, so explain them to me, then I can come to your orchestra performances and know exactly what I'm talking about."

At this, Benedikt went crimson, and Mats seemed quite pleased with himself. "I - uh - um - I'm not actually in the o-orchestra most of the time..."

"What are you in then and I'll come see that."

"We'll I'm in a jazz combo, and a chamber group with Mesut and Marco and Toni. And sometimes I'm in the orchestra but when I'm not I help out anyway."

"That's cool," Mats said eagerly, and Benedikt's doubts about his attentiveness were out the window; Mats Hummels was genuinely interested in his life.

They never got round to Playstation, instead they just talked for a good few hours, which Benedikt loved. Mats was reasonably intelligent, not like some of his other football mates, and Benedikt was enjoying himself much more than he'd previously allowed himself to. Mats even ran downstairs and refilled his drink for him when he'd finished.

Mrs Hummels eventually poked her head round the door and looked surprised to see Benedikt.

"Oh hi Mama," Mats grinned, craning his neck backwards to look at his mother upside down. "This is Benedikt, he's from school. Benni, this is my mum."

"Call me Eva," she smiled at him. "It's lovely to meet you. I'll be downstairs if you boys need anything."

They both nodded. Benni looked down at his watch as she disappeared back downstairs. "I'd better be off, actually," he said.

Mats' face fell - he actually looked properly disappointed. ”You could stay for dinner if you like?"

"Thank you f-for the offer but I've really got to get back and help my mum, and I've got homework, and yeah."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten you're one of those good people who do homework," Mats chuckled.

Benedikt blushed for what felt like the fiftieth time that afternoon.

"Hey you know what, maybe I'll even do some too tonight if you're not going to stay."

When Benedikt didn't reply, Mats said "I can walk you home, if you like?”

"No, it's fine," Benni stammered, then regained some composure. "And anyway, you'd better get started on that homework."

Mats let out a laugh as the two boys stood up and headed downstairs. "You have far too much faith in me."

Eva gave Benni a wave from the kitchen where she was cooking something that smelt marvellous and he almost wished he'd accepted Mats' offer. He thanked her for having him, something Mats seemed to find amusing, then collected his things. The footballer gave him a hug. "This was cool. We should do it again sometime."

Benedikt nodded. "Yeah. Definitely. Sure."

"Here, I'll give you my number. Just drop me a text when you're free."

And so Mats grabbed a felt tip that was conveniently lying on the table next to him, and wrote his number on Benni's hand. "There. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Benedikt said, rather flustered from the amount of contact they'd just shared. He pushed open the door, gave Mats a wave, then walked home, trying to slow his racing heart.

...

Mats felt like he'd accomplished a lot. Everything was back to normal, and his worries about whether Benedikt really liked him were out the window. He knew exactly how to make Benedikt blush, and he knew he could get somewhere with this. And he didn't want to stuff it up because he actually, properly liked Benedikt. He could get a hook up anywhere, anytime, but with Benedikt it was different. He wanted so much more, and he'd only just met the boy. He wanted a relationship.

He returned to the kitchen and sat down at the bench as his mother pottered around the kitchen preparing dinner.

"He seems lovely," Eva Hummels shot her son a smile.

"Yeah, he is."

"He on the team?"

"Nah, no way," Mats chuckled. "We did a project for school together. He's in with the music crowd, actually."

This seemed to surprise her. "The music crowd? I thought there was the whole "we hate them, they hate us" kinda thing?"

"Yeah, but that's kinda died down. Some of his crowd play for our team now, and Miro's practically in love with one of them."

"Miroslav? In love? That's a miracle."

"Head over heels and the boy's only 16," Mats laughed. "I think everyone in the school's disappointed he's off the market, no matter how straight they claim to be."

They both laughed, and Eva gave her son's hair a ruffle. "Well Benedikt seems like a lovely, attractive, young man," she said.

"Mama," Mats groaned.

"I'm just saying," Eva laughed. "You could do with a relationship. Don't think I don't know about your adventures in the city. Cathy has told me a lot."

"Mama no!"

"I'm not complaining, I was the same when I was your age. Your father and I were doing it as soon as - "

"MAMA!" Mats exclaimed, covering his ears. "Just because you and Papa were high-school sweethearts made for each other or whatever you guys tell me."

"Do you like Benedikt?"

"Yeah, he's a nice guy."

His mother gave him a knowing look. "He's really nice. Good manners. You could take a leaf out of his book.”

"Mama, if you say anything when he is over I will - I'll disown you as my parent!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Eva replied. "Who'd be here to serve you lovely dinners?"

"Evening!" Mr. Hummels walked into the kitchen and pecked his wife on the cheek before taking a seat next to Mats at the bench. "How were everyone's days?"

"Mats brought round a new friend," Eva said.

"Mama, don't," Mats sighed, but his mother had already launched into telling his father all about Benedikt. He had a feeling he'd be saying that many more times if he kept bringing Benedikt Höwedes round.

...

The season got off to a good start, and all the footballers were happy. Some of the music boys, not so much. Erik was in a constant state of unhappiness, and while he wished that Marco would notice, the blonde boy was even more infatuated with Mario than usual. He and Christoph had taken to sitting with the other boys at lunch, something that Erik couldn’t withstand every single day. He found himself heading to the library more frequently than he usually would, and the music department was suddenly something of a safe haven.

And with camp next week, things were only going to get worse. He looked over at Marco and Mario who were sitting next to each other at the end of the table, talking to each other in undertones. His heart physically ached with jealousy. There was nothing more that he wanted in that moment than for Marco to be sitting with him instead, whispering cute things to him. He wanted to be the one to make Marco smile, to make him laugh, just to make him happy. That was the only thing that mattered to Erik - Marco Reus’ happiness.

The hardest part was that the only person he’d let in on the secret was Toni. He couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone else; Thomas would likely blab, Benni seemed to be having his own issues with a certain footballer, André, though his best friend, wouldn’t understand for Erik was nearly 100% sure the boy was straight and Mesut looked extremely stressed lately, and also they weren’t very close. And it wasn’t like he could talk to Toni all day, every day about this, that wasn’t fair to offload his problems all onto one person. So, he was left to his thoughts, mulling over what could have been while he tried not to combust with jealousy for Mario Götze.

He’d talked with Toni a few times about it, but eventually he got the feeling he was annoying his friend, and decided to keep things to himself.

It hurt to bottle things, but it was the only way.

Marco eventually noticed. The older boy had invited him round for Playstation, and Erik knew he was being quiet. They were playing in nearly complete silence. Erik was trying hard not to look at Marco’s polaroid wall.

“Are you okay?” Marco voiced, as they finished their game of FIFA - Marco had won easily, Erik’s mind was well and truly elsewhere. He tossed the controller down and leaned back against the bed. They were sitting on the floor, and Erik suddenly became very preoccupied with the strands of carpet.

“Erik?” Marco said. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said softly, not looking at the other boy.

Marco’s voice was tinged with concern. “You’re really quiet. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“I’m fine,” Erik repeated, but Marco pressed on.

“It’s all okay at home right? And you’re enjoying school? Or is it something else?”

“I’m fine, Marco, just fucking drop it, okay?” He snapped. Marco looked taken aback, and even a little hurt. Erik regretted his words the instant he’d said them. “I’m fine,” he said, for the fourth time now - three too many times to be able to convince Marco of anything.

“Sorry I asked,” Marco muttered.

Erik left soon after, refusing to look at the other boy, and wondering fearfully if he’d given anything away.

…

One thing Mats had discovered about Benedikt was that he changed moods more erratically than any other person Mats had ever known - and that was including his older sister. After the ups and downs following his “run-in” - as he preferred to call it - with Robert, Benni had returned to refusing to speak to Mats at all.

It was unbearably infuriating.

They had History last period. Benni didn’t say so much as a word to Mats, despite his best efforts to be nice. Luckily, when the bell rang Benni was moving incredibly slowly to pack up his books, so Mats hung around outside and cornered him as he stepped out of the classroom.

“What is your problem with me?” He hissed, not wanting to raise his voice till the rest of the class was out of earshot.

Benni gave him an unimpressed look.

“What!” Mats said indignantly.

“I’d just… I’d rather not…”

“Rather not what? I thought we were friends.”

“We are but - ”

 “Then why are you always so bloody _pissy_ all the time!”

Benedikt gave him a look of outrage. “If you’re going to be a _slut_ and go off and hook up with Robert every other weekend, be my guest!” He said.

“Oh so you’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” Benni looked extremely uncomfortable. "Why would I be jealous?"

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. Just say it.”

“Say what?” Benni was trying to act confused, and failing miserably. Mats saw straight through him.

“Tell me you have a crush on me.”

Benni just stared at him.   
  
“Say it.”

“No.”

“Why not? We both know it’s true Benni.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I recall you telling me not to call you Benedikt.”

“Shut up.”

“Feisty.”

“You are insufferable.”

“And _you_ have a crush on me.”

“Why are you such an asshole?”

“Well you’re not denying it.”

“Mats.”

“ _Benedikt_.” His name fell from Mats’ mouth in three clear syllables, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Fine.” Benedikt scowled. “I don’t think you’re a slut.”

“And you have a crush on me.”

“Absolutely insufferable,” Benedikt huffed and marched away from Mats. The footballer jogged after him of course, grinning righteously at Benni.

“It’s cute when you use big words like ‘insufferable’.”

Benni blushed and Mats grinned triumphantly.

“You know it’s not an issue that you do have a crush on me. I think you’re cute.”

At this point, Benni was close to resembling a tomato. It was adorable. He ducked his head bashfully, not meeting Mats’ gaze, tucking some loose hair behind his ears, which were the same adorable pink as the rest of his face.

“So are you going to admit it?” Mats said after a little pause. Benni just rolled his eyes, having regained some of his composure.

“Not in a million years, Hummels.” And with that, the pianist headed off again, walking quickly as if he was trying not to let Mats catch him. He wasn’t going to go after him anyway, he was satisfied. Benni’s last words echoed in his head.

There was something about that boy. He didn’t know what it was, and it drove him crazy, but he liked it. He liked it a lot.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month later, here I am again!! As usual, apologies for the delay, I'm so busy right now and it's so hard to find the time to write, but I hope you're all still enjoying this (please tell me if you are, I really need to know whether it's worth it.) I do have the story planned out more or less, so there shouldn't be too much writers block, it's just a question of finding the time.
> 
> Kudos, subscriptions and especially comments are greatly appreciated, please don't hesitate to tell me what you think! (I'm kinda conscious that I'm focusing too much on Benni/Mats I love them but pls tell me if you want to see more of other ships!) 
> 
> I'd like to thank the lovely Bea (@mnemosynee on ao3/schmelzers on tumblr) for always sticking by me on this and giving me motivation and support ily babe <33 (you should all go read her fic about Benni and Mats it's wonderful)
> 
> Also, thank you for getting me over 200 kudos! It really means the world to me, I love you guys <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope the wait wasn't too long! 
> 
> \- Charlotte


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp is a special time of year.

Thomas didn’t like getting up early. This was something he knew he shared with Miro, and he dropped the senior a text as he got in the car, dragging a hand across his sleep filled eyes. Why they had to be at school this early in the morning escaped him, but at the same time, he was excited. Camp was the best time of the year.

_why did we have to be here so early xx - tommy <3_

_i’m so tired xx - tommy <3_

Ten minutes passed without a reply.

_miro are you even awake - tommy <3_

They pulled into the school with just five minutes to spare before the meeting time of 5.30 and Miroslav was nowhere to be seen.

_oi babe where the fuck are you - tommy <3_

_everyone is here where are you - tommy <3_

Thomas tried calling him, and eventually on the third try he picked up. “I’m late, I know,” came Miroslav’s sleepy voice from down the line.

Thomas just laughed. “I’ll tell Bierhoff you’ll be here in a bit yeah?”

“Thanks,” Miroslav said. In the background he heard a door slam. “I’m getting in the car now, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay see you soon.” And Thomas hung up, shaking his head and laughing to himself.

…

Thomas was explaining Miroslav’s absence to a frazzled Mr Bierhoff, and Marco and Mesut were chatting to Marco’s parents, so Benni stood by himself and found himself looking for Mats in the sea of boys. Everyone was illuminated in the soft glow of a lamppost, it was dark, and it would be for some hours to come.

Camp was the best time of the year, for the obvious reasons, but also because he was getting a week of Mats in street clothes. At the present moment, Mats was wearing tight but not too tight black skinny jeans, that made his legs look utterly godly and a baggy Weisburg sports hoodie - he got a bit distracted here thinking about how if he and Mats were together he could wear the jumper. Atop his mass of unruly curls was a slouchy beanie. Benni wanted to give him a hug, he looked so cuddly.  
 Of course, Mats caught him looking and shot him a grin, making Benni blush.

“You’re so obvious,” Mesut laughed. He and Marco had rejoined Benni.

“So?”

The other two boys shared a look, then Marco said “Just don’t spend all of camp eye-fucking him, okay?” They both grinned. Benni blushed even more.

“Quiet everyone!” Mr Bierhoff was standing on the wall near the gate, waving his arms around. The chatter ceased, and he continued. “It’s time to go, so if you could all say your goodbyes, and we’ll get on the road as soon as possible.”

The boys did as they were told, and started filing onto the bus. Thomas was already seated, at the back, saving a seat, when he saw the familiar BMW pull up. A very bedraggled Miroslav jumped out and hauled his suitcase towards Mr Bierhoff, who gave him a stern talking to before directing him towards the bus.

“This is the first time that I have ever seen you not looking immaculate,” Thomas chuckled, as Miroslav made his way down the bus and fell with a sigh into the seat next to him. He wore sweat pants, a polo shirt (still maintaining some class, Thomas supposed) and a hoodie.

“Shut up, it’s 5 in the morning, I’m allowed to look like shit.”

Thomas pecked him on the cheek. “Your hair looks cute, all ruffled and messy like that.”

Miroslav raised his eyebrows, then raised a hand to try and smooth it down. “Stop teasing.”

“I’m serious. You look hot.”

Miro smiled wryly, reaching down to take Thomas’ hand. Thomas was glad he’d picked the seat at the back, it meant that when they turned the bus lights off they could have a bit of privacy away from the teachers, who were sat down the front. Across the aisle from them were Bastian and Lukas, who were, as usual, involved in some sort of play fight. In front of their row were two sets of four seats facing each other; in front of Thomas and Miroslav were Benni, Marco, Mesut and Toni, while the other four sat Manuel, Mats, Xabi and Per.

The bus stuttered into life, and with a cheer from some of the boys, pulled out of the school gates and onto the road.

“Right!” yelled Mr Bierhoff. “It’s 5 in the morning, and I want to finish my night’s sleep, so the lights are off till 8am. We should be there around lunchtime.” And with that, the lights in the bus went off, and everyone fell silent.

Miroslav seemed exhausted, and Thomas wondered if this was normal, or if the senior had been out last night. He wrapped his arm around him and Miroslav rested his head on Thomas’ chest, looping an arm across his waist, and seemed to fall straight to sleep.

In the half light, Thomas could see Benedikt leaning back over the seat. “Are you going to sleep?” the pianist whispered.

“Probably until Miro wakes up, yeah.”

“You better hang out with us too.” Thomas was pretty sure Benni had poked his tongue out.

“I will,” he whispered. “If neither of us are awake at 8, wake me up, okay?”

“Okay,” Benni’s head disappeared, and Thomas shut his eyes, smiling a little at the weight of Miro’s head on his chest, and tried to fall asleep as well.

…

Marco woke up when it was still dark. He checked his phone for the time, and found a text from Mario, sent about ten minutes previous. It was now 7.30, meaning he’d slept for a good two hours, and on top of his eight hour sleep the previous night, he was no longer feeling tired. He hurriedly turned the brightness of his phone down, as Benni was curled up fast asleep next to him, and opened the message.

_are you on the bus yet? x - mario <3_

They’d started putting a kiss on the end of texts, and it still made his heart race every time he got one.

_yep, we had to be at school before 5… :// just woke up now, everyone’s still asleep haha what are you up to? x - marco <3_

_just left school now but we’re stopping for coffee and stuff soon i think :) x - mario <3_

_luckyyyy i don’t think we’re stopping till we get there :( x - marco <3_

A few minutes later a picture came through of Mario and Christoph with coffee and pretzels. Marco giggled softly and saved it.

_everyone is asleep at the moment i wish you were here x - marco <3_

_i wish i was with you too :( x - mario <3_

“You too are almost as disgusting as Thomas and Miroslav,” came Benni’s hushed voice, and Marco jumped out of his skin.

“How long have you been awake?” he hissed.

“A minute or so. Your texts are very entertaining.”

“Loser,” Marco muttered, giving him a shove, then focusing back on Mario’s messages.

The lights flickered on a little while later, waking up most of the boys. Thomas was rubbing his eyes, seeming to still have a sleeping Miroslav with his head in his lap. Mesut was leaning across the aisle to talk to Xabi, while Toni was on his phone.

Suddenly, Mr Löw was striding down the aisle towards the back seat. “Thomas Müller what are you - oh he’s asleep. Thank God.” The surrounding boys broke into fits of laughter as Thomas looked like he’d been deeply insulted.

“Sir, you think so little of me! I could never do such a thing!”

The sudden noise had woken Miroslav up and he looked around dazedly at everyone. “What’s so funny?” he mumbled. His hair was an absolute mess.

“Nothing, babe, go back to sleep,” Marco heard Thomas whisper, and presumed Miro had rested his head back in Thomas’ lap as there was a round of “aw”s. It made his heart ache for Mario. Camp would be fun, but with Mario there it might have been just that little bit better.

…

They got to the camp around lunchtime as proposed, and the teachers let them all off the bus and straight into the dining hall for lunch. Everyone was hungry and tired, and they all dug in like teenage boys do. When they’d all finished firsts, seconds and thirds, Mr Bierhoff called for silence. They all knew this was the important part; rooms.

“Room 1,” Mr Bierhoff raised his voice in order to get everyone to listen. “Miroslav, Per, Philipp, Xabi. Here is your key. It is your responsibility to retrieve your bags from the truck. Room 2!”

As he progressed through the rooms, Bierhoff grouped all the usual suspects together, all in rooms of four, and everyone seemed thankful they hadn’t been split up. Benni, Thomas, Toni, Marco and Mesut were all worried however as Bierhoff got to room 11 and none of them had been called. Rooms of four meant one of them would be separated, with the other four most likely together.

“Room 12. Mats, Benedikt, Robert, Sami.”

Benni looked like he’d been given a death sentence. The others were trying to hide their sighs of relief that it wasn’t them separated. Thomas was almost laughing at the look on Benni’s face as Mats walked up to the pianist grinning like mad.

“Back in the dining hall at 3, okay boys?”

They all nodded, and headed off to the cabins to get unpack. Benni was still seething at the fact that he had been split off from his friends, and he didn’t know how he felt about being with Mats. And Robert.  
 Mats fell into step beside him, grinning widely at Benni. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Höwedes.”

Benni rolled his eyes. He saw Mesut, Marco, Toni and Thomas laughing together a little way away and cursed his luck.

The room had two bunk beds, one against each wall, with an expanse of empty floor between. Sami quickly called dibs on one of the top bunks, and Mats sat down on the bottom bunk of the other. Benni made for the ladder but Robert bet him to it, so he was stuck with the other bottom bunk.

“This is going to be fun,” Mats said triumphantly, a mischievous glint in his eye that Benni had grown to dislike.

They unpacked, and returned to the dining hall when they were supposed to for the camp owners to go through the rules, then for duties to be assigned. Bierhoff announced they had an hour of free time before dinner, and Benni scarpered for his friends’ cabin as quickly as he could.

“You actually have the worst luck,” Mesut chuckled as Benni fell down on his bed with a huff.

“I can’t believe it,” Benedikt shook his head. This room was set out identically to his, Mesut and Marco on the two bottom bunks, Thomas and Toni on the top. Thomas was getting into warm clothes, evidently going off to see Miroslav.

“Lots of alone time with Mats, eh Benni?” the artist smirked, jumping down on to the ground from the ladder.

“Shut up. I presume you’re going to see Miroslav? Remember what I said, okay, or I might as well be in this bloody cabin.”

Thomas grinned. “Have fun with Hummels,” he clapped Benni on the back and headed outside.

Benedikt spent the entire afternoon with his friends and they all headed up to dinner together. Thomas came in with Miro and they both sat down with Benedikt, Marco, Mesut and Toni, and so the rest of the footballers squeezed in at their table too. Mats ended up across from Benni, and shot him a grin.

Dinner was as good as lunch had been, and they all ate a lot, even Benni, who didn’t eat that much as a rule. After clean up was finished, they were allowed more free time. Most of the footballers decided to go down to the flying fox by the lake front, but Benedikt, Toni, Marco, Thomas, Mesut, Miroslav and Xabi returned to the younger boys’ cabin and sat around talking.

Miro and Thomas retreated to Thomas’ top bunk - presumably to make out - and Mesut produced a pack of cards and they started a game of Cheat.

Toni turned out to have an incredibly good poker face and was winning from the start. Mesut was absolutely awful and would always stutter a bit when he was cheating, which would leave the other boys in fits of laughter as he collected more and more cards. Xabi, it turned out, had a different set of rules, and at the end, after Toni had won and he’d come in second, produced a handful of cards from beneath the sleeve of his jumper, and beneath his crossed legs to everyone else’s outrage.

“You can’t cheat like _that_!” Mesut said indignantly, picking up a few of his multitude of cards that he’d dropped in his shock at Xabi’s antics.

“The game is called “Cheat,”” Xabi shrugged, smiling.

As Toni packed up the cards, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Mesut said, but Mr Bierhoff was already opening the door. “Lights off in ten minutes, all of you back to your own cabins and no sneaking around at night. You spend the night in your own room, got it?”   They let out a chorus of “Yes sir”s. Miroslav climbed down the ladder and followed Xabi and Benni out.

“How much do you reckon they’ll check if we’re in our own rooms?” Thomas asked, once Bierhoff and the three other boys had gone.

“Thomas, don’t break the rules on the _first_ night!” Marco said exasperatedly.

“I could easily get out that window,” the artist said thoughtfully.

“Whatever you do, we had no part in it,” Mesut said. “And if you do go see him, you be safe.”

“Don’t get pregnant,” Toni smirked.

Thomas rolled his eyes.

…

_you awake? xxx - tommy <3_

_Yeah, why? xx - miro <3_

_is the rest of your room awake? xxx - tommy <3_

_No, why? - miro <3_

_can i come to your room? :)) xx - tommy <3_

_If you don’t get caught…. - miro <3_

_I won’t :) see you soon xxxx - tommy <3_

Miroslav rolled his eyes and waited for another reply or a sign that Thomas was near. After a few seconds there was a tap at the window. _Why is he trying to use the window_ , Miroslav asked himself with a shake of his head, but opened it all the same. “Come on then.”

Thomas clambered through the window and landed clumsily on the floor. Miroslav winced and shushed him, but reached for his hand and pulled them both back onto Miroslav’s bunk as carefully as possible.

“Hey,” Thomas whispered, his smile visible even in the half light.  
 “No talking,” Miroslav instructed, covering Thomas’ mouth with his own. The older boy fiddled with the duvet so that it was over them both, before sliding his hands beneath Thomas’ oversized shirt that he was using as pyjamas.

The bed was a bit creaky, and so they had to keep still as they kissed, or one of Miroslav’s roommates would wake up. It was only Xabi, Per and Philipp, but still, neither of them wanted to get caught.

While Miro splayed his hands across the warm skin of Thomas’ chest and stomach, his fingers teasing at the nipples, Thomas begun kissing his neck. When he bit at the skin, Miroslav couldn’t help but let out a tiny moan.

“Miro? Is that you?” They broke apart instantly, Miroslav freezing stock still, while Thomas shook with silent laughter above him.

Xabi let out a sigh, and they heard the creak of the bed as he turned over.

“That was a close one,” Thomas whispered as quietly as he could, then resumed kissing Miro’s neck.

Another moan escaped Miro’s lips, and the senior grabbed Thomas’ face. “Too much, I’ll be hard soon.” Instead they just kissed, long slow kisses that they both got a bit lost in, until light illuminated the room.

“Are you two actually serious?” Xabi hissed. He was sitting up in his own bed, the flashlight on his phone turned on and pointed at the two boys. “Did Bierhoff not make the ‘No sneaking into other cabins past curfew’ rule clear enough?”

Thomas was laughing as quietly as he could.    
“Go back to sleep Xabs,” Miro whispered. “We’re not doing you any harm.”

“Your _bloody_ moaning woke me up before,” Xabi huffed. “I don’t want to be in the room while you do… whatever you do.”

“It’s just kissing!”

“Still.” They saw Xabi roll his eyes in the half light. “I know that nothing I say is going to make Thomas go, so please just keep it down, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Miro replied, and the room went dark again, Xabi turning over so he didn’t have to see them.

Thomas giggled in Miro’s ear, as the senior began kissing up his jaw. “Being quiet might be a bit hard.”

“I can still hear you,” Xabi’s irritable voice came from the other bed, resigned and sleep-deprived, knowing both boys wouldn’t care what he said.

…

The teachers came round and woke them all up at 8.50 with instructions to be at breakfast at 9. Thomas had luckily returned to his own cabin during the night without getting caught, but both he and Miroslav looked sleep-deprived when they turned up to breakfast, and Miroslav was struggling to remember to pull his shirt up over the hickey that blossomed near his collarbone.

They ate breakfast and then were split into six teams of 10 for the day. Benni, Thomas, Marco, Mesut and Toni were all together this time, along with Mats, Bastian, Lukas, Manuel and Sami. Bierhoff and Jogi handed out the schedules.

They spent the day doing various team building activities - rock climbing, adventure course, games in the camp gym, and by lunchtime, with just one activity in their roster remaining, most of the boys were tired out. When the boys checked their schedule and found indoor football was their last activity, all of the footballers perked up a bit.

“Is there any point us even playing?” Benni said to Marco as they made their way towards the gym.

Benni was put in goal by his team, something which he protested he had never agreed to. Mats, who was his captain, laughed and told him to just stick out his hands and try not to get hit in the face. Benni spent the majority of the game glaring at him. But, his defence - made up of Mats and Toni - were good enough that the ball only came his way once and when it did, Thomas’ shot went straight at him and he managed to catch it. Mats let out a whoop and ran to clap him on the back, and Benedikt grinned. Maybe this wasn’t too bad after all, he thought.

His team ended up winning, a fact which Mats and Bastian would hold over the others for the rest of the day.

While everyone else went off to shower, Benni, who hadn’t really done much exercise in goal, returned to his cabin to read. He was rereading Lord of the Rings, mainly for the reason of the Hobbit films coming out in the near future, but it was one of his favourite books. He was so engrossed that he didn’t hear the door open, and only realised that someone was in the room when they spoke.

“Hey.”

Benedikt looked up and almost dropped his book. Mats was shutting the door, his hair damp, droplets falling from the dark curls onto his bare chest, and running down his skin, some collecting in his belly button, others hitting the towel wrapped around his waist. There was so much of him on display, and Benni couldn’t help but stare. And stare. And stare.

A little smile quirked at Mats’ mouth, and Benedikt knew Mats was enjoying the attention. “What are you reading?” the footballer asked.

“L-Lord of The Rings,” Benni stammered.

“Is it good?” Mats said, and for a second Benni feared he was about to drop the towel right in front of him, but Mats just rummaged around for a pair of underwear. This was almost as bad, as when he’d slipped them on under his towel, he did let the material fall, and Benni got a look at his legs. “I’ve seen the movies. Not really a reader myself.”

“Oh,” Benni mumbled. “Yeah it’s good.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the way the muscles in Mats’ thighs would move as he paced around looking for his clothes.

“You know,” Mats said, turning around and looking Benni straight in the eye as he pulled his jeans on. “It’s rude to stare.”

Blushing profusely, Benedikt tried to hide behind the cover of his book.

“Benedikt Höwedes!” Mats laughed, stretching his arms through a t-shirt painfully slowly. “Your mother didn’t raise you right.” He ran a hand through his straggly curls, flinging droplets everywhere, then rolled onto the other end of Benedikt’s bed. Benni moved away instinctively, still shielding his crimson face with the book.

“Can I have a look?” Mats said, reaching an arm out towards Benni and his book. Benni nodded and let the other boy take it.

Mats cleared his throat in an adorable manner, stealing a grin at Benedikt before beginning to read. “‘The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings.’” Mats looked up at Benni expectantly.

Benni hadn’t realised how much he liked Mats’ voice until now. “Keep going,” he mumbled and Mats obliged.

“‘It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm. “You cannot pass,” he said. The orcs stood still, and a dead silence fell. “I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.”” He looked up indignantly at Benni. “I thought it was ‘You shall not pass.’”

“That’s what it is in the movies. The books are always right.”

“Why isn’t the movie right?”

“It’s an adaptation of the book, so the book is right.”

Mats cocked an eyebrow. “You like to read?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your favourite book?”

“I don’t have one.”   
“Well what books do you like then?”

“Poe is always good…”

“What’s that about?”   
“He’s an author, idiot.”

“Well I’ve never heard of him.”

“That’s because you don’t read. And even if you did read, you are not the person I would expect to be reading Poe.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“You’re just not.”

“Can I prove you wrong?”

“You can try.”

“It’s dinner time, are you coming, or are you just going to continue reading?”

“No, I’ll come.”

They bickered all the way down to the dining hall. It was cute and flirty, and Benni found himself enjoying it. Mats held the door open for him, and shot him a little smile as he said thank you.

Mats sat next to him at their table, much closer than necessary, but Benni wasn’t complaining. He felt the footballer’s arm brush against his when he moved his cutlery in a particular way. Benni was extremely conscious not to drop any food down his front.

After dinner, the teachers cleared the tables, and ordered them into the six teams they’d spent the day with. They were told to stand in lines.

Jogi appeared holding a large jar of peanut butter. “Some of you may know this game,” he grinned, unscrewing the lid. “Some of you may not, but it is undoubtedly very entertaining. He scooped a spoonful of the spread out and put it on the forehead of the boy in the first line, Per. “The aim of the game is to get the peanut butter to the end of the line the fastest, without using your hands.” He scooped some on to the next boy’s forehead. “Prizes will be awarded for the fastest team, and the team who has the most peanut butter at the end.”

When every boy at the front of the line had peanut butter on his forehead, Jogi called “3-2-1 go!” And they were off, trying to figure out the best way to do it. After two people had successfully transferred the peanut butter down the line, Benni realised he was standing next to Mats. This was going to be awkward.

When it finally got to Mats, Benni wanted to run. They were going to have to get close. Really close.

Mats stepped forward and pressed his face towards Benni’s. Benedikt could make out every individual eyelash, and every little freckle around Mats’ nose. It luckily didn’t take too long for the peanut butter to be transferred, and Benedikt didn’t have to fight the urge to kiss Mats for too long.

They ended up coming in second fastest, but with the most peanut butter, and were rewarded with a chocolate bar before being sent to bed.

“We’re all getting up at 7 tomorrow, so straight to sleep!” Mr Guardiola yelled as they headed out to the cabins.

The next morning, they were woken up before 7 as promised, and everyone assembled in the dining hall for breakfast looking like they didn’t want to be there, apart from Mr Bierhoff who looked raring to go, for some reason unknown to everyone else.

The tramp they were be going on meant they would be spending the night camping. Each boy had half a two man tent in their packs, plus lunch, full water bottles, and any clothes they wanted.

They managed to leave camp at just after 8. Mr Bierhoff lead at the front, with the eager walkers all with him like Bastian’s older brother who was determined to get the tramp done as quickly as possible, Mr Guardiola was in the middle of the pack, and Jogi held up the rear, with the football group chatting to him about their upcoming games. Thomas and Miroslav walked a little ahead of this group, holding hands now they were out of the watchful eye of Bierhoff. Marco had his camera, and had already snapped various pictures of them.

Mesut and Xabi were chatting away in Spanish, to everyone’s annoyance. Miroslav would occasionally catch snippets of what they were saying and smile knowingly.

“What are they talking about?” Thomas asked.

“Mats and Benni,” Miro replied in an undertone.

Thomas looked around and saw Mats and Benni at the very back, talking together in their own little world. Benni looked happy, blushing slightly and laughing at something Mats had said.

“They are really cute.”

“Not as cute as you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“You love it.”

Bastian, Lukas, Per and Manuel were discussing football with Jogi, but eventually Bastian got bored and fell back to walk with Philipp. He found himself watching Lukas.  
 The feelings were only getting stronger, and it was scaring him. He’d always had a little bit of a crush, but things were getting out of hand. He was realising now just how attractive his friend was, and what with everyone else getting together, he found himself wanting to spend as much time with Lukas as he could. He craved to be close to the other boy, and he wasn’t sure if that was in a friendship way or a relationship way. He knew one thing. He wanted Lukas in his life.  
 The thing was, would making a move ruin that?

Lukas was religious, and not the most liberal in his views of homosexuality. Sure, he didn’t care if his friends were gay, but the slightest inclination that he might swing that way and Lukas would shut off, getting defensive and almost repulsed. It scared Bastian.

It scared him because he didn’t know where this stupid crush was going. Was he falling for Lukas? He hoped not, because that would really throw a spanner in the works.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Philipp talking to him until the captain nudged him.

“You alright, Schweini?”

Bastian nodded, dragging his eyes away from Lukas.

“You and Lukas okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Okay.” Philipp gave him an almost knowing look, that shook him to the bone. Was he giving the game away? “You know you can tell anything right?”

 _Shit_.

“Yeah,” Bastian stammered, trying to act cool and failing. He wanted to come out with it right there and then. Telling Philipp would be easy. He could get it off his chest, have someone to consult about this _mess_ that he’d got himself into.

But he couldn’t do it.

Philipp looked like he was waiting for something, and when he didn’t get hit, he almost looked disappointed, but changed the subject like he knew Bastian wanted him to.

They arrived at their destination just as the sun began to set. The sky was a beautiful mixture of fiery reds and oranges set against the baby pink clouds that floated across the sky. As they put up the tents, it darkened, and they ate dinner around the campfire, beneath the stars. Bastian was sitting next to Lukas, and he knew he wasn’t his usual self. They started singing campfire songs after a little while, and Bastian just watched his best friend, the way he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, listened to the beautiful sound of his voice.

To make matters worse, they were sharing a tent. It was small, cramped, and they slept on the same mattress, a blow up, measly excuse for a mattress in Bastian’s opinion. He itched with the urge to move closer to Lukas but he knew he couldn’t. There were boundaries in place, boundaries that he couldn’t break without ruining everything.

“Night Basti,” Lukas muttered, then turned over and seemed to fall straight to sleep.

Bastian lay awake for much longer. He couldn’t shake the thoughts that had plagued him all the day.

…

Miro and Thomas had somehow managed to convince Jogi into letting them share a tent. They connected their sleeping bags together with the zips, and Miroslav wrapped his arms around Thomas.

They kissed for a while, Miroslav’s hands finding their way down the back of Thomas’ pyjama pants. They would go further and further every time, but Miro felt that this probably wasn’t the place to do anything too illicit for fear of being caught, so he broke their kiss and instead settled beneath Thomas’ chin.

Thomas pressed a few kisses into his hair. “This week is one of the best weeks of my life,” the younger boy said.

“Agreed.”

“I’m really glad you're here with me, Miro.”

“Me too.”

Thomas tilted his head up and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Tom,” Miro said sleepily, then shut his eyes, and let the slow thud of Thomas’ heartbeat rock him to sleep.

…

Marco managed to get cell phone reception if he held his phone right up to the roof of the tent he shared with Mesut. The other boy was already asleep, but Mario was texting him back so Marco stayed up.

_i miss you :( x - marco <3_

_i miss you too :(((( i can’t wait to see you, what time do you get back on sunday afternoon? x - mario <3_

_mid arvo i think x - marco <3_

_you should come round :) x - mario <3_

_yes please x - marco <3_

_how’s the skiing? x - marco <3_

_it’s good! christoph is so bad it’s hilarious xx - mario <3_

_how’s the walking? x - mario <3_

_tiring :/// but good :) x - marco <3_

His watch chimed midnight and he typed out a final text.

_I have to get up early tomorrow so I’ll try talk to you sometime tomorrow, miss you lots xx - marco <3_

_miss you too, goodnight xxx - mario <3_

Marco slid his phone under his pillow and lay back, falling to sleep with a smile on his face, his head full of thoughts of Mario Götze.

…

The next day, they had a lot more time to get back to camp as they had completed two thirds the previous day, and so the teachers were a bit more relaxed as to their pace.

Thomas had gone to walk with Mesut so Miroslav fell into step next to Bastian, who was right at the back by himself.

He asked similar questions to Philipp the previous day; if he was okay, why wasn’t he with Lukas, did he want to tell Miro anything.

Bastian merely responded with a head movement, and Miroslav seemed concerned, but seemed to figure out Bastian just wanted to be left alone, and went to find Thomas.

In the last hour of their walk, the two seniors approached him. They made general conversation, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. But every time they or he mentioned Lukas, Bastian felt his heart contract in a way it hadn’t done before.

He was scared again. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it one bit.

“You know you can tell us anything, right?” Miroslav said suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed together.

“I know,” Bastian said, trying to smile. He felt his gaze flick to Lukas again, who was walking with Mats, laughing about something in that beautiful way that he did.

Both the seniors followed it and both let out a little noise of realisation.

“Do you… You… it’s Lukas?”

Bastian let out a truly defeated sigh and nodded. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe some other time. But not now.”

Miroslav and Philipp shared a look, then the captain nodded. “Okay, buddy. But we’re here whenever you feel like talking, okay?”

“Okay.”

…

As they walked back into the camp, Toni retrieved his phone from his bag and checked his messages now they had reception again. There were four from Erik.

_i can’t handle this toni i’m sorry if i annoy you but i just can’t hold it in - erik_

_mario won’t shut up about marco - erik_

_he was talking to christoph last night and they thought i was asleep but i wasn’t and i wish i was because mario was pretty much saying that he’s never felt this way before and that he was going to ask marco to be his boyfriend - erik_

_i almost wish we were with you guys even if mario was with marco all the time i could just get away from both of them - erik_

While everyone else went off to supper, Toni told the teachers he wasn’t hungry, then hurried back to his cabin and called Erik.

“Hey,” the other boy’s voice sounded dejected and sad and Toni’s heart broke for him.

“Hey, I just got your texts, we went on a tramp for the last two days, how are you going?”

Toni heard him let out a little sigh. “I hate myself for not taking my chance. We’ll probably talk again tonight and I’ll have to listen to him talking about _him_ and it kills me Toni.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through that,” Toni said, genuinely feeling for the younger boy.

“The worst thing is that I know I’m pathetic as well. We… we had a fight before we all left for camp, and I know that he’s pissed off at me. I thought I could handle just being his friend but I can’t. And I don’t want him to be pissed off because then he won’t be happy and…” Erik let out a sound of exasperation.

Toni went to reply but the door swung open, and Marco’s head popped around it. Toni quickly shut his mouth.

“Who are you talking to?” The blond asked curiously. Toni held up a finger, then returned his attention to the phone.

“Is that Marco?” Toni could hear Erik’s terrified whisper.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Listen, I’ll talk to you later okay? Just text me.”

“Okay,” Erik said. “Thanks Toni.”

“No problem, see you later.” He hung up, and turned to face Marco.

“Who was that?” the blond asked again.

“Erik.”

Marco’s features instantly darkened. “What did he want?”

Toni raised his eyebrows, and acted like he knew nothing. “Just a chat. Why are you so interested? And why do you look so pissed off at the mention of a boy who’s supposed to be one of your best friends?”

Marco took a seat on his bed. Toni sat down on Mesut’s and waited patiently for an answer.

“Erik… Erik hasn’t been Erik recently.” Toni found some comfort in the fact that he actually had noticed the change in Erik’s demeanour in recent weeks. “And I asked him what was wrong and he just shut me down, and it’s like he doesn’t trust me! I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but he’s just being all shitty with me, avoiding me and everything.”

“Do you think it’s something to do with you and Mario?” Toni asked tentatively. “Is he worried about losing his best friend?” he added quickly, so as not to let Marco suspect anything of Erik’s true feelings.

“I suppose he might be jealous, but that’s not my fault, is it? I really, really like Mario, so why can’t I hang out with him?”   
Toni just looked at him.

“What?”

“Maybe you should just be a bit more conscious of how your relationship with Mario affects your friendship with Erik.”

Marco nodded slowly, taking in what Toni had said. Then he frowned. “He hasn’t told you why he’s upset has he?”

“No,” Toni lied. “But even if he does, if he doesn’t want you to know, I’m not going to tell you.”

Marco looked a little shocked at this, and his eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. “You two were never close…”  “So?”   
“It’s just odd, that’s all.”

Toni rolled his eyes. “He just called up for a chat. Now stop nosing around in other people’s business.”

And with that, Toni left the cabin, leaving a presumably bemused Marco to ponder what he’d just said.

…

They all assembled in the seniors’ room after dinner, and ended up in a circle with Bastian suggesting they play truth or dare.

“I’m going first,” the blond announced. “Xabi.”

“Truth.”

“Are you a virgin?”  “Well that really got the ball rolling,” Miroslav laughed from beside Thomas.

“Yes,” Xabi said, matter-of-factly. “That wasn’t even that difficult. My turn. Lukas.”

“Dare.”

“Lick Per’s foot.”

“Oh god no,” Lukas exclaimed. “No way. I chose truth.”

“You gotta do it!” Mats laughed. Per already had his socks off.

“Oh god, no,” Lukas repeated. He moved towards Per, and shut his eyes.

“All the way up,” Xabi cackled.

Lukas did so, as quickly as he could, then spat in the corner on the ground. Per was shaking with laughter as he put his sock back on.

“It could have been worse, we could have made you lick his dick or - ”

“Ew, no, shut up!” Lukas covered his ears, looking rather disgusted.

“While Lukas recovers, it’s my turn,” Bastian said, laughing at his best friend. “Mats.”

“Truth.”

Bastian thought for a second. “When, where and who to did you give your first blow job?”

“First year at Weisburg, beneath the stands down at the field, Michael Ballack. That was technically three questions, play fair.” He carried on without a care however. “Miroslav.”

“Dare,” Miroslav said.

Mats grinned. “Give Thomas a lap dance.”

Miroslav groaned. “He doesn’t even know about that.”

“Know about what?” Thomas asked curiously, but was smiling at the proposition.

“Miroslav once got outrageously drunk and gave Mats a lap dance,” Xabi explained.

“It was a damn good lap dance,” Mats smirked.

“How many lap dances have you had if Miroslav’s was good?” Benni muttered from next to Mats and the footballer just shrugged.

“Can we just get this over and done with?” Miro asked, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Take your time, babe,” Thomas replied, tipping a wink at him.

“No half-heartedness, I want it to be better than the one you gave me!” Mats was laughing.  
 “Fine. Grab a chair.”

Mats offered Thomas the chair in the corner of the room, bringing it so it was at an angle for everyone to see. Thomas sat down, and Miroslav made towards him.

“Don’t you fucking dare film this,” Miroslav growled, dropping fluidly into a squat so that he could spread Thomas’ legs apart. He rose up slowly, arching his back, making sure to come close to the boy in the chair, feeling not only Thomas’ hungry eyes on him, but the gaze of everyone else in the room. Then he hooked his legs either side of Thomas’ so he was straddling the younger boy. He wrapped his arms around his neck, and began to grind on him.

Someone’s phone started playing some music, and with a roll of his eyes, Miroslav decided that he might as well go for it. It was Thomas after all. He gyrated his hips for all he was worth, and it was worth it, for Thomas’ eyes were sliding shut as he ground himself harder in the other boy’s lap.

He felt Thomas’ hands run down his chest, slowly, dragging across the thin material of his t-shirt, then round to hold his hips, and finally, as Miro twisted and turned above him, cupping his ass. There were some wolf whistles from their audience, and Miroslav blushed. To cover this, he began to pull his shirt over his head, and threw it towards Xabi, who caught it mid-laugh, then let Thomas run his hands down his skin.

He really hoped he wouldn’t have a boner after this, because that would be extremely awkward in front of all his friends. But Thomas let out a faintly audible moan and Miroslav felt himself getting aroused at merely the sound of it. Then Thomas bucked his hips up a little, evidently craving the friction, and Miroslav couldn’t care less about the outcome. He stood up suddenly, wanting to tease Thomas, then came around so he was standing in front of the boy’s knees and sat himself down firmly on Thomas’ lap once more. He leaned forward, pushing his ass up against Thomas’ torso, and tried not to meet the gaze of any of his other friends because god this was embarrassing. (But he was enjoying it.)

He rolled his hips, felling Thomas’ hands settle on either side, his fingernails digging slightly into Miro’s skin. Miro let his head fall back onto Thomas’ shoulder, and the soft pants that were escaping from the other boy’s mouth made Miro want to kiss him, but this was a dare, there was an audience. Instead, he reached down and picked up Thomas’ hands, bringing them up above his head, and then leaning forward so Thomas was pressed flush against him, maintaining the rolling of his hips. Someone - Miro was pretty sure it was Mats - let out a whoop.

Thomas was moving in time with him now, his hips moving up to meet Miroslav. Miro manoeuvred himself so he straddled only one thigh, now with his back to the audience, and thought _fuck it_ , and began kissing the younger boy’s neck as he kept grinding. There were more wolf whistles, especially when Thomas’ hands found his ass again.

Miroslav made sure to leave a nice hickey before looking round to Mats. “Good enough?”   
Mats nodded, and lowered his phone - of course, despite Miro’s protests he’d filmed the entire thing - looking thoroughly pleased as Miro climbed off Thomas to a round of applause and catcalls from the group of boys. Miro caught his shirt as Xabi threw it at him, and sat back down on the ground, Thomas crawling into his lap.

“He wants more,” Manuel smirked from his seat on the couch. Miroslav’s hand shot out and soon the goalkeeper was hugging his knees to his chest, wincing in pain.

They carried on with the game, and Miro leant back against the bottom of the couch, Thomas sitting between his legs, his head on Miroslav’s chest. “Where did you learn to do that?” Thomas murmured so that only Miro could hear him. “Because it was fucking amazing.”

“Secret,” Miroslav chuckled.

“I will pay you to do that to me when we’re alone,” Thomas whispered, grinning up at him.

“You dirty little boy,” Miro whispered back, but kissed him on the lips quickly, then wrapped his arms around Thomas’ middle.

“Miro, it’s your turn,” Mats said.

Thomas leant up and once more whispered in Miro’s ear. “Ask him something about Benni if he picks truth. If he picks dare, make them kiss.”

Miro smirked. “Mats.”

“Truth.”

“Do you like anyone at the moment?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“You idiot, you can’t ask two questions!” Thomas slapped him on the leg.

“What he said,” Mats said smugly. “My turn. Benni.” He turned theatrically to the boy next to him, who blushed.

“Truth,” the pianist said.

“Who is the most attractive person in the room?” Mats was smirking, that know-it-all-I-know-you-think-I’m-it smirk.

Benni didn’t answer straight away. Mesut, Marco and Thomas were all grinning.

Mats raised his eyebrows. “Have you got an answer?”

Benni mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Sorry I couldn’t quite hear that,” Mesut called from the couch.

“You,” Benni said more clearly, his ears pink as he snuck a look at Mats, then looked away.  
 Mats sat back, looking smug. “Your turn.”

Benni’s eyebrows knotted together. “Robert.”

“Dare.”

Mats leaned over and whispered something in Benni’s ear under the cover of his hand that no one else could hear.

“Jesus, he could be giving Benni a hickey for all we know,” Thomas chuckled lowly to Miroslav.

“Seven minutes in heaven with a person of your choice,” Benni said indifferently, having evidently just repeated the words Mats had told him.

Miroslav knew it was a ploy on Mats’ part to see who Robert would pick, and if that happened to be Mats, he probably wanted to get Benni jealous.

Everyone saw Robert’s eyes flick over Mats, but they came to land on Manuel. The Pole beckoned to him and everyone let out a whoop.

“Where are we supposed to go?” Robert asked. There was no wardrobe or toilet they could have privacy in.

“Just go outside,” Bastian said. “It’s dark enough. Your seven minutes has started.”

The two boys disappeared outside, and the boys continued. Thomas called dibs on the next turn as he hadn’t had a go asking yet. “Benni,” he challenged.

“Dare,” Benni replied, and probably instantly regretted it, as Miroslav knew Thomas was up to something.

“I dare you to kiss Mats.”

The boys fell into a round of catcalls as Benni blushed crimson. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Mats had shuffled even closer, and brought his hands up to cup Benni’s cheeks, then leaned in.

And then the cabin door opened. Benni shot away from Mats liked he’d been electrocuted. Jogi was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. “If you didn’t know, boys, there is a light on your porch. That means that if anyone were to look out the window they would see Manuel and Robert initiating rather horrific amounts of PDA on your doorstep. And I come in and some of you are almost kissing. I assume you knew about these two?” Jogi motioned to a rather ruffled Manuel and Robert.

“Seven minutes in heaven?” Lukas voiced weakly.

Jogi rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not Mr Bierhoff, or you’d all be running laps. Now get to bed. And no more truth or dare! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re all up to in here. I want everyone in their own cabin, now.”

As he disappeared back out the door, everyone let out a huge sigh of relief. “I thought we were done for,” Xabi said, shaking his head. “You heard him, everyone back to your cabins!”

…

“Get up!” Benni was awoken on what should have been their peaceful Sunday morning to the sound of Thomas banging open their cabin door and announcing that it was snowing, as excitable as an infant on Christmas morning.

“There’s snow, Benni, get up!”

Benni knew he was never going to win against Thomas and swung into a sitting position, dragging a hand across his eyes.

“ _Shut_ up, Thomas,” came the growl from Mats’ bed.

Benni’s gaze was clear of sleep enough for him to see Thomas poke his tongue out, then wrench the duvet off the footballer. “It’s snowing, Mats!”

“Just give me ten minutes to get changed, and I’ll be right out,” Benni groaned. Mats just turned over. Thomas left to wake everyone else up, presumably, and Benni got changed into suitable clothing.

“Are you coming?” He asked the duvet-covered lump that was Mats.

“Maybe in a few hours,” came the muffled reply.

“Oh come on, it’s snowing!” Benni said jovially. He could see it out the window, and really, he was excited, it was the first snow he’d seen this season.

“No.”

“Please!” Benni said, standing over the bed. Robert was waking up on the top bunk too now. Mats rolled over to face him, and he caught a glimpse of Mats’ bare chest - how he wasn’t cold when he slept escaped Benni. “For me?” he pleaded, trying to play Mats at his own game - he knew that the footballer would maybe be swayed by this.

And he was right, Mats hopped out of bed, grumbling “Fine,” but Benni knew he was trying hard not to smile.

“I’ll see you out there,” Benni said, then went out into the snow.

Bastian, Lukas and Thomas were already involved in a snowball fight. There were a few other boys out too, and just as Benni arrived, Marco, Mesut and Toni all emerged from their cabin.

It was a brilliant way to end the camp. They made snowmen, teamed up for snowball fights (which did involve a seething Miro chasing Thomas around for ten minutes after the younger boy shoved snow down his shirt.) Then Jogi mentioned that there might be some sleds somewhere, and after they found these they all trekked up the hill at the back of the camp and tobogganed down. When Jogi came out to call them all in for lunch, Bastian threw a snowball in his face, and he joined in too for a little while.

Many of them sopping wet from melted snow, they trailed in to the dining hall at around 12 o’clock, and were told to clean themselves up by Mr Bierhoff, who still hadn’t softened despite the beautiful flakes of snow falling out the window that everyone seemed to love. They supposed it hadn’t been an easy job for him.

Benedikt was red cheeked from the cold, and feeling rather exhausted as he and Mats headed to the showers. Mats was chatting away to him and Benedikt realised just how much more comfortable he was around the footballer after the past week; they were friends now.

After showers and a fresh change of clothes, everyone reassembled in the dining hall for their last lunch. The caterers were serving soup and hot drinks, and the boys lined up eagerly, chatting loudly as they got their food.

The polystyrene cups warmed Benni’s hands, and the soup made him feel comfortable. They sat at their usual table, and Mats had taken the seat next to him, meaning they were sitting extremely close to each other - not unlike the piano incident. That felt like a life time ago. Mats kept knocking his leg against Benni’s, and he couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or not, only that each time a tingling of nerves would shoot through his skin.

They were instructed to collect their bags and make sure the cabins were tidy, and with some reproach, the boys did as they were told. None of them wanted to leave. Benni still had his hot chocolate as he walked back to the cabin. He passed Robert and Sami with their bags on his way, but found Mats still packing as he stepped inside. The footballer was half under the bed, reaching for something on the other side, and when he emerged, he grinned at Benni jovially. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Benedikt replied, taking a sip of hot chocolate. Mats had retrieved his phone charger, and zipped it into his bag before standing up triumphantly.

“Finished?” Benni asked.

“Yep! Can I have some of your hot chocolate?”

“No! You had your own earlier.”

Mats pouted. “Please?”

“No.”

The footballer stepped towards him and smirked. “You’ve got a little something… just there!” And he dipped his finger in Benni’s hot chocolate and drew it all over Benni’s cheek, then fell about laughing as the pianist’s smile turned to outrage.

Benedikt scrubbed at his cheek with his sleeve, but when Mats had regained his composure, he saw that the other boy hadn’t quite been successful. Mats put his own cup on the table and shook his head. “You missed a spot,” he said quietly.

Frowning, Benedikt tried to find it and again wasn’t successful.

“Here,” Mats chuckled lowly. “Let me.” He cupped Benni’s face in his hands and wiped away the foam that graced his cheek. “Right…. there.”

Mats wiped his hand on his trousers, but kept the other on Benni’s cheek. The pianist stared up at him rather astonishedly. His eyes were wide - not scared, something that Mats couldn’t quite place his finger on - and his lips, those beautiful, beautiful lips, were slightly parted as if he had been surprised.

Mats had never wanted to kiss him more than he did in that moment.

…

Benedikt had never wanted to kiss Mats more either.

Mats was leaning in now, just like he had done the previous night. Benni let his eyes slide shut - that was what you were supposed to do, wasn’t it?  
 But then, it seemed again that the odds were not in their favour, as Thomas careered through the doorway and skidded to a halt when he saw what they were doing - or about to do.    
“Oh shit,” Thomas exclaimed, then tried to back away, telling them “Just carry on, carry on, pretend I was never here!”

Mats rolled his eyes and to Benni’s disappointment, let his hands drop back to his sides, moving away from him.

“No, please kiss, please, I promise I won’t tell, just pretend I didn’t see anything, and you were still being cute and cleaning Benni’s cheek, come on Mats!” Thomas whined, jumping up and down like a child.

Mats rolled his eyes. “You have shitty timing, Thomas.”

Miro’s head appeared round the corner of the cabin door. “We’ve got to go,” he said, frowning a little at the sight in front of him. Thomas looked utterly annoyed at his own actions, while Benni refused to look at Mats. Mats just nodded.

Benni hurried out of the room, (as fast as someone with little upper body strength dragging a suitcase could.) Mats followed, Thomas badgering on about how they should have just kept going, and how it was going to happen sometime soon anyway. Benni could hear them, and blushed even more crimson.

Mr Bierhoff was already herding them onto the waiting bus. Most of the boys were seated, and so when Mats and Benni made their way down to the end behind Thomas and Miro, the only seat remaining was an empty two seater. Benni huffed silently, now he had to spend an awkward drive with the boy he’d almost kissed.

He could still recall the feel of Mats’ hands on his cheeks, the thumbs brushing softly against his skin, no arrogant smirk, just a look of contentment and almost a bit of desire.

Mats leaned over to him. “Stuck with me again, Benni.”

Benedikt just scowled, but when Mats’ arm brushed against his on the armrest between them, who was he to complain?

…

Having claimed the very back seat of the bus again, Thomas and Miro were making out in the corner, hiding behind the tall heads of Per and Sami, who sat in front of them. Jogi didn’t seem to care anymore, as long as Bierhoff remained asleep and unknowing of the illicit activities occurring up the back.

Bastian and Lukas sat across the aisle like they had done on the way over and Bastian was busy scrunching up pieces off paper that Lukas threw across the aisle towards Miroslav and Thomas.

About an hour in, Mats himself was dozing when he felt something soft and heavy drop onto his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Benedikt sound asleep. Mats thought he looked absolutely adorable, his face relaxed and peaceful, his chest rising and falling with each little breath.

Carefully, he leaned forwards and retrieved the blanket from the floor and draped it over the boy next to him, but wasn’t able to escape the attention of Bastian, who made a loud cooing sound in their direction. Mats rolled his eyes as everyone looked round at him and the boy sleeping on his shoulder.

Thomas had his phone out and Mats couldn’t stop him taking pictures or he’d wake Benni up, and that wasn’t something he wanted happening, because the other boy looked so incredibly cute and Mats wanted to take a selfie to tease him later.

“Cute camp couple!”

“Is this how you slept in the cabins, Mats?”

“You going to give him a kiss too?”

Mats scowled at the rest of the boys. “You’re going to wake him up, assholes,” he whispered, as Benni stirred on his shoulder. Luckily he didn’t wake, and Mats glanced down at him, smiling as Benni let out a little snuffle in his sleep.

The pianist remained asleep for another good hour. Mats picked up Lord Of The Rings from his lap and decided to give it a try. When Benni woke up, he looked even more adorable than he had done asleep, rubbing his eyes with his fists. When he suddenly realised that he’d slept on Mats’ shoulder, his eyes went wild. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, and Mats just chuckled.   “It’s fine,” he replied softly, not wanting any more attention from the others.  
 “You’re reading my book,” Benni said.

“I am.”

“Do… do you like it?”

“Frodo’s a bit of a sap, to be honest.”

Benni burst out laughing.

“What?”

“No, no, I agree!”

Mats just grinned at him.

“Hey, um… I… um…” Benni ran a hand through his hair - Mats had noticed he did this a lot around him. “Look I really enjoyed this week. Like I thought I was going to hate it, rooming with you, but I didn’t and you… you’re a really cool person Mats.”

“What a compliment,” Mats smirked, relishing the furrow of Benni’s eyebrows. For a while he hadn’t cared about being the subject of the boy’s frowns, then he didn’t like it, but now he loved irritating the other boy, as he knew Benni couldn’t stay mad at him for longer than five minutes.

“I’m being serious here, Mats,” Benni pouted.

“I know you are.”

Benni scowled at him.

“I really enjoyed this week too.”

The scowl turned into a little smile. “You’re still insufferable. I hope you know that.”

Mats grinned. “Oh I do.”

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever apologising for my lack of quick updates, again it has taken me so long to update this and I am very sorry!! It looks like it's going to be one a month from here on in, but I shall try my best to write new chapters as quickly as possible! I'm not 100% happy with this but I just needed to get something posted for you guys so I hope you like it at least a little bit! I'm super busy what with school and orchestra and personal issues (namely boys but let's not talk about that) so it's really hard to find time, but I do have the next few chapters planned out so hopefully I can update as soon as possible!
> 
> I tried to get this one churned out for Beatriz' (mnemosynee) birthday on the 3rd but didn't quite get there, but oh well, consider this my birthday present to you bby!!! ily and thank you for keeping me motivated
> 
> Also gotta say thanks to Leon (serein) and Max (doesn't have an ao3 account that I know of??? but album-fragmentation on tumblr where he keeps me sane from all my boy issues) for supporting me and messaging me in times of need (you both know what I'm talking about.) Max, I've told you, but Leon, I haven't; guess who I messaged..... ;)
> 
> Please let me know what you thought down in the comments, or gimme some Kudos or a subscription, anything and everything means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for everything, I hope you liked the chapter!! 
> 
> (that was a very long end of chapter note oops sorry while I'm here can I just say ARSENAL FA CUP SEMI FINALS OH YES OH YES HOLLAAAAAAAA okay i'm done)
> 
> \- Charlotte <3333


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thomas isn't my ho."

When Benni got to Calculus first period on the Monday after camp, he didn’t know what to expect. His mind was in an ongoing fight with itself over his feelings for Mats Hummels and every little thing he did he planned in advance - what to say, how much to smile, how much cheekiness to let Mats get away with, how much to flirt back. It wasn’t exactly healthy, the amount of thought he gave to the subject, particularly with the school year well and truly underway - in fact it was the last week before Christmas break. But he couldn’t drag his mind away from the fact that he’d almost kissed Mats. Twice.

The teachers tried to get them to do work during this last week but to limited success. The boys had ‘post-camp depression’ as they liked to call it, and with the holidays so close no one was really concentrating on anything in class. Mr Bierhoff had even told them to sit where they wanted in the last week. Benni half expected Mats to move to where his friends were, but he didn’t. Instead the footballer talked with him even more than before. They got on well, when Mats was being nice, and when Benni wasn’t being too derisive - a word Mats had used to describe him upon seeing him on Monday morning. He’d fallen into the chair next to Benedikt with a grin. “If I’m insufferable, then you’re derisive. 

Benni disagreed, and found it a word that could in fact be suited to Mats too. This lead to them having a class long discussion in which Mats made him an acrostic poem of adjectives he found applicable to Benni. It was banter, and scrawled on a torn page of Mats’ maths book, but after Mats gave it to him, he folded it up and put it carefully in his blazer pocket. 

He still felt like he didn’t know the real Mats. What were his fears? What were his worries? What terrors did he have in his past that kept him up at night, or that filled his nightmares like the ones Benni had so frequently did. Maybe Mats was lucky and had had it easy. His mum had been extremely lovely for sure, and Benedikt just got the feeling that Mats didn’t have inner demons.

“Are you alright?” Benni rocketed back to the present. Mats was walking beside him, his eyebrows furrowed. “You look really out of it.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Benni replied. “Just thinking.”

“You weren’t offended by that poem I did, were you?”

The concern in his voice made Benni’s heart melt. Mats Hummels did genuinely care about him. “No of course not! That was… really cute. Even if you called me derisive.” 

Mats let out a low chuckle. “Good." 

Benni was almost astounded at himself for how flirty he could be with Mats. Maybe it was just when he got comfortable that he could stop himself being a blushing, stammering mess around extremely hot footballers such as Mats. But he still wondered how he had got to be so comfortable around Mats. Some things hadn’t changed - when Mats ran a hand through his shaggy mane of curls, Benni couldn’t help but want to run his own hands through them, and when Mats would do that little smile, not the smirk, not the mischievous grin (although he loved that too), but the little smile that Benni knew was only reserved for a select few, and that he felt meant Mats was actually enjoying his company. It would come out when he called Mats different words, particularly insufferable, which Benni had taken to using more and more often now simply for the reaction Mats would give him. 

Mats walked with him all the way to his next class, Music, until Benni realised that he was probably supposed to be somewhere else. “What do you have?" 

“Sport,” Mats said, looking at his watch.

“Isn’t that on the other side of campus?” Benni exclaimed. 

“Yeah, but I should get there in time.”

“Why did you walk all the way up here then?” 

“I like talking to you,” Mats smiled at him. “Is it a crime?”

“No,” Benni was blushing now. 

“I’ll see you later then?"

“Yeah, see you.”

Marco, Toni and Mesut were all grinning at him when he walked into Music. Benni sat down as if nothing had happened and shot a quizzical smirk back. 

“Get in there Benni,” Marco hissed, and the boys all fell about laughing. Benni felt his cheeks go a little pink.

... 

Bastian was nothing short of a mess. But he was a confined mess, hidden carefully behind the best façade he could muster.

_I could be an actor,_ he thought, as he tried not to stare at Lukas’ hands too much.

He’d just happened to have a particularly painful dream the previous night about those hands running all over him. 

He was a mess, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

Everyone was getting into relationships; Miroslav and Thomas were sickeningly couple-y, Mats and Benedikt seemed completely smitten with each other, even the new boy in the football team Mario seemed to have something with Marco Reus, and he was stuck pining after his best friend, of _all_ people. 

But the way Lukas smiled, radiant like the sun, light and happiness and just plain delight reaching his eyes and seeming to shine out of every part of him when he was around Bastian, that was something Bastian couldn’t control. He was stuck being caught under Lukas Podolski’s unintentionally irresistible spell.

Maybe it would pass. He hoped it would. He didn’t know if the feelings were real or not, or whether he was just caught up in stray emotions he couldn’t quite keep under control. He didn’t want to like Lukas like this. This would ruin everything, he knew it.  


“Earth to Basti,” Lukas nudged him, a laugh fluttering from his mouth beautifully, a low chuckle that Bastian wanted to record and play forever - _no, stoppit,_ he told himself.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. He couldn’t meet Lukas’ gaze.

“I asked if we were doing anything after the derby on Wednesday,” Lukas said, still grinning.

“I.. uh… I don’t think so,” Bastian scratched his head. “I’m not sure. It depends if we win or lose.”

“True." 

“Mats mentioned something about a party though. Not after the derby but sometime soon. With Benedikt and his lot too.”

Lukas frowned. “I don’t even know all of them. Thomas is cool, and Mesut I suppose, but the rest of them are kinda boring aren’t they?”  


“Thomas said they have parties sometimes." 

The other boy shrugged. “I suppose.” He leaned across the aisle to Mats’ desk. “Oi,” he hissed. “You having a party soon?”

Mats nodded, but held up a hand to make Lukas wait as he scribbled something on a piece of paper, but instead of giving it to Lukas he tossed it at Benedikt. 

The pianist frowned as the scrunched up ball of paper landed on his desk. Lukas lounged back in his chair to watch Benedikt’s reaction, crossing his arms and grinning.

Bastian tried not to stare. 

Benedikt had blushed, and muttered something to Thomas, who sat next to him, then turned around and nodded at Mats.

“First day of the holidays,” Mats whispered to Lukas. 

“Sweet,” Lukas replied, still grinning. “Thursday,” he told Bastian.

Bastian nodded and grinned back, hoping the mess of confusion he felt inside wasn’t showing through.

…

“I think I’ve fallen for him,” Mats informed Miroslav as they stood in line in the cafeteria, and was almost triumphant about it. 

“You gonna ask him on a date?”

“I’m going to kiss him first." 

Miro raised his eyebrows.

“He’s just so cute, and we almost kissed twice at camp, and now I can’t get through a class with him without wanting to kiss his stupid face.” 

“Invite him to the match on Wednesday,” Miro suggested, picking at his nails and looking rather bored. “Mats, if I’m honest, he’s obviously head over heels for you. He’d probably do anything you said.”

“But I want to do it right,” Mats said adamantly. “I want to treat him right, because he still sees me as this… I don’t know… mean popular footballer." 

Miroslav seemed pleased. “Good. No, I’m serious, good. Treat him right. He deserves that.”

“How’s things with Thomas?” Mats asked as they started ladling out their food from the counter.

“Very good." 

“You two official yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?" 

“I don’t know.”

“Just ask him.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to be - ”

“Miroslav Klose you are being ridiculous. Of course he wants to be your boyfriend.”

Miro shushed him hurriedly, looking around and noticing Thomas at a table only a little way away with his friends. “Shut up,” he winced. “What if he wants to ask me, or if he doesn’t want it at all?” 

“You’re overthinking this far too much, Klose.”

“No I’m not." 

“Just do it. You guys are fucking anyway, it’s not like - ”

“We are not _fucking!”_ Miro hissed. 

“Really?” 

“ _Yes_ , really. We haven’t even gone past making out yet. And a bit of touchy feely stuff but you know. He’s a damn good kisser.”

“Christ, I thought you’d be right off the mark.”

“No.” They made their way towards the table.

“Why were you so late to sport, Mats?” Manuel grinned, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“I was talking to Benni,” Mats replied, as if it had simply been a question about the weather.

"Oh so he's 'Benni' now is he?" Manuel raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, that would be the traditional nickname for someone named Benedikt," Mats shot back.

Manuel, Xabi and Bastian all covered their smirks. 

“Shut up,” Mats said. “I don’t see you with anyone.”

“I try stay well away from boy problems in general,” Xabi quipped.

“What about him and Mesut?” Per hissed to Miro.

Xabi glared at his friend, who put his hands up in defence. “There is no me and Mesut. We are friends. Nothing more. I’ve said this countless times and none of you seem to believe me.”

Miro was sitting back, laughing. “It’s funny how we all ended up falling for the group you guys used to hate so much.”

“I had nothing against them,” Xabi reasoned. “It was Mats who changed his tune.”

“Oh so you’ve fallen for one of them?” Manuel smirked. Xabi had glared at him before he even finished the sentence. 

“I didn’t say that, dickwad.”

“So defensive,” Philipp punched his friend jovially on the arm. 

“There is nothing between me and Mesut,” Xabi protested, slamming down his container of pasta on the table and making them all jump.

“Jeez, Xabs, we’re just teasing you,” Per whistled. The Spaniard was fuming.

“Guys, seriously, listen to me,” Mats said. “Miroslav Klose is being a little bitch and thinks Thomas doesn’t want to make if official.”

The boys immediately rounded on the senior, who had blushed crimson. Mats just sat back and let the harassment continue; Bastian was shaking Miroslav’s arm so hard it might fall off. He snuck a look at Benni. Thoughts of their almost-kisses flew to his mind. 

If Miro could ask Thomas, then he could easily kiss Benni. 

…

André and Erik were walking home together like they usually did. Erik was trying to be normal, but that was hard when he hadn’t sat with the group at interval nor lunchtime, and had scarpered when Marco turned up to their last class of the day to pick Mario up for some sort of date. André was talking at him rather than to him, with Erik doing very little to contribute to the conversation, and after a few long silences André turned to his best friend and asked the question Erik had been wanting so desperately to avoid. “Are you alright, Erik?”

Erik stared at the pavement in front of him. “Yeah,” he mumbled. 

“You don’t seem alright. You never sit with us. You’re way more quiet than usual. Did I do something wrong? Did one of the others do something wrong?”

Erik felt infinitely grateful that André cared about him enough to notice, and to be worried, but he couldn’t tell the other boy. André wouldn’t understand.

“I’m tired,” Erik lied. “I need a good holiday, you know?”

“Two more days,” André nodded, but was evidently suspicious. There was another silence. And then; “Erik, you know, I’m your best mate, you can tell me stuff, okay?”

Erik tried to look nonchalant and failed. It scared him to no end that he was this easy to read.

“Thanks, André, really, but I’m fine.” The words were empty, false, tasted disgusting in his mouth. He knew he was falling into a rut he couldn’t escape, telling everyone he was fine when he was far from it.

Very far from it.

André dropped the subject and instead started talking about the derby game on Wednesday. Erik nodded and asked questions when necessary but no more than that 

Marco was sitting on his front deck next door when Erik arrived home. Erik wondered where Mario was. The other boy didn’t even acknowledge him. Served Erik right, he supposed, Marco was probably still mad about the fight they’d had before camp 

It made his heart ache as he walked inside. He’d used to be able to go over to Marco’s any time he wanted, to talk, or play video games. He was upset he’d had to lose their friendship in this big mess. Erik had let his stupid crush get the better of him, and he’d lost his best friend because of it. Sighing, Erik threw himself onto his bed and shut his eyes, trying to push his thoughts away. Marco kept coming back no matter how hard he tried to think about other things.

He could never win.

…

Jogi watched on pensively as the team performed passes, dribbles, shots and tackles, and Manuel dived every which way. The annual match with their nearest geographical rivals Luitpold Gymnasium was as close to a derby that the two schools got. And with the prize of bragging rights for the remainder of the season, Wednesday’s game was a must win.

Thomas and Miroslav were passing back and forth one touch a little way away from the rest of the group, occasionally flicking the ball up so they could play keepy-uppies. 

“Do you want to come back to mine after the game?” Miroslav asked. “My parents are away so we’ll have the whole house to ourselves.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows suggestively, and started laughing as Miro kicked the football particularly hard at him. 

“You always jump to conclusions,” the senior said. “We could just have a good night in, you know?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Thomas chuckled. 

“What would you know about being home alone with a boy anyway?” Miro shot back.  
  
“Quite a lot,” Thomas replied. 

Miroslav rolled his eyes.

“What are you rolling your eyes for?” the younger boy said indignantly. 

“You."

“Thanks a lot.”

“No problem, babe.”  
  
“Save your flirting for later,” Bastian yelled as he jogged past. 

Thomas pulled the finger at him. Jogi saw and made him do twenty press ups. Miro couldn’t stop laughing. 

…

Benni had stayed after school to practice, and now, took the short cut to the gate. This meant passing the football fields, where the team were just finishing up practicing.

“Benni!” Mats’ voice sailed loud and clear over the chatter of the others. Benedikt turned and saw him jogging towards him, wearing an extremely flattering muscle shirt, which he’d evidently created by hacking off the sleeves himself, as there was a jagged cut to the holes. He grinned and fell into step beside Benni. “Hey!" 

Benni tried not to stare at his arms. “Hey.”  


“What are you doing here?” 

“I was practising." 

“You practise a lot.”

“That’s what you need to do if you want to be any good at anything." 

“I get by on natural talent.” Mats smirked. 

Benedikt rolled his eyes. “I bet you do.”

They’d reached the school gates and Mats made no indication that his car was here, so they carried on walking together. Benni’s house was only five minutes walk past Mats’. 

“You look cute today, just by the way,” Mats grinned. 

Benni went crimson. 

“I’ve told you before, but you look even cuter when you blush.”

“Th-thank you." 

“You’re welcome,” Mats said breezily, as if he gave out heart-stopping compliments all the time. “You’re friends with Mesut and Thomas, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"So you're coming to the derby on Wednesday?"

"I suppose..."

"Good," Mats grinned.

Benedikt shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. "Why is that good?"

"Because it is." Without even looking at him Benedikt knew he was smirking. "Anyway I've seen you play, it's only fair you see me."

Now Benedikt looked at him, stumbling over his feet. They were nearly at Mats' house, but he just wanted to keep walking with Mats and flirting like they were (or how he thought they were) for the rest of eternity.

They stopped at his steps. 

"So I'll see you tomorrow then, yeah?" 

"Y-yeah."

"Cool."

He leant in and gave Benedikt a hug. “6 o’clock on Wednesday. Don't be late!” he whispered, his breath hot on the pianist's cheek. And then Benedikt wasn't sure, but he could swear Mats' lips grazed his cheek as they parted. 

"Later, Benni," Mats waved as he jogged up his steps and Benedikt lifted a hand rather dazedly to wave back, then he touched his cheek.

He definitely wasn't going to miss that game.

... 

André spotted Marco talking to Mario and Christoph outside the younger boys’ homeroom the next morning. He approached, and awkwardly asked if he could talk to Marco, thankful when the other two didn’t seem fussed. Mario gave Marco a quick peck on the cheek then disappeared with his friend.

“Is everything okay?” Marco said, evidently concerned.

“Uh… I’m worried about Erik.”

This interested Marco. “Me too,” he replied in an undertone. “He’s not himself. He never sits with us. He’s always pissed off at me. I don’t know what I did wrong." 

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.” 

“He’s pissed off at you too?”

“Yeah. I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong and he got all defensive and pissy."

“Same thing happened with me before camp,” Marco ran a hand through his hair. “I’m worried about him. I’m really worried. I think he’s lost weight, he never smiles anymore, he doesn’t want to sit with us, he doesn’t even talk to me anymore. We’ve always talked!" 

“Is it something to do with you and Mario?”

“I don’t know. It shouldn’t be. He’s had a relationship in the past and it didn’t effect our friendship. And from what Mario has told me, Erik is friendly towards him. I don’t think it’s that." 

“Then what is it?”

“I have no idea. I’m going to try talk to him about it, but I’m scared he’ll just push me away again. I want him to talk to me about it. I don’t understand why he hasn’t.”

“Okay. I’ll try again as well. Maybe it’ll pass.”

Marco nodded, trying to be hopeful. “Maybe.”

“See you later then,” André said. “Good luck with Erik.”

“Seeya,” Marco replied. Mario took André’s place almost as soon as the other boy had left.

“Are you okay?” he asked, an adorable concerned expression gracing his features.

“I’m really worried about Erik,” Marco told him quietly.

“Why?”  


“He’s not the same. I don’t know if it’s something I did, or something that’s happening at home, and I’m just really worried about him." 

“Hey, calm down, I’m sure it’s not something you did,” Mario said, rubbing Marco’s shoulder. “He might just be going through some stress or a tough time and doesn’t want to talk to people about it."

“But he’s talked to Toni about it!” Marco exclaimed. “They were on the phone at camp together and Toni stopped talking when I came in, so it’s got to be something to do with me!”

“Not necessarily. He might have just stopped out of consideration for Erik’s privacy.”

“True…” Marco frowned. “But why was he talking to Toni! They’re not even close! He always used to come to me with problems. He hasn’t even talked to André about it!”

“Maybe he thought you were getting tired of him. Were you getting tired of him?”

“No, not at all!”  


There was a silence, then Marco let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do." 

“Is he jealous?” Mario suggested.

“Why would he be?”

“You spend a lot of time with me, maybe he thought you didn’t like him anymore.”

“But he would have told me about it.”

Mario just shrugged. “I don’t know what you should do either, I’m sorry.”

“Maybe he’s just stressed. I don’t know. I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?" 

“I know, babe.”

“Thank you for listening to all my annoying problems.”

“They’re not annoying. I want you to be happy, and I’m glad you think you can tell me this stuff.”

“I’m glad I can." 

“Good,” Mario leaned in and kissed Marco on the lips. The frown turned into a little smile and Marco returned the kiss. At least if he’d lost Erik he had someone like Mario. 

He didn’t realise that this was the problem.

... 

The Spanish teacher, like every other teacher, had given up trying to teach anything, and told them they could talk, provided they at least try to have a conversation in Spanish. Miroslav had pulled out his phone and gone silent, probably texting Thomas, so Mesut and Xabi chatted away in Spanish.

“What are you doing in the holidays?” the older boy asked. 

“Nothing much. My parents are going on this weeklong escape thing with some of their friends from the Mosque, so I don’t know if I’ll be home alone or staying somewhere. What about you?”

“Nothing much. I think Basti was throwing a New Year’s party, so I’ll go along to that, but other than that not much else. The relatives will all be coming over for Christmas but that’s not unusual, we do a huge family thing every year." 

Mesut nodded. “That’s cool. We don’t do anything for Christmas because my parents don’t believe in it. It’s kind of sad, because I’m not that strongly Muslim and I think it would be nice to have some sort of Christmas." 

“Well when are they away?”  


“23rd till the 1st."

“You should come to mine for Christmas!”

Mesut frowned. “I’d love to but I don’t know if I’d be allowed to.”

“Well there’s no harm in trying. Just ask if you can stay at a friend’s over Christmas or something.”

“I could try, but there’s a very low possibility of them saying yes.”

“You never know!” 

“I suppose. That would be really cool if I could.”

“Even if you can’t come, we should still hang out in the holidays. And not just to study. Proper hanging out.”

“I’d like that,” Mesut smiled.

“Me too."

“I just want to thank you for all that you’ve done for me these past weeks,” Mesut said quietly. “It really means a lot and I honestly don’t know what I would have done without your friendship and guidance and yeah, I’m just really glad I met you.”

Xabi looked quite taken aback at Mesut’s gratitude. “Oh that’s okay! It was a pleasure, and I’m sure you would have done wonderfully on your own. But I’m really glad I met you too. I feel like we’re going to be really, really good friends by the end of the year." 

“You’re the best Xabi.”  
  
“Oh shush.”

“You really are." 

“You’re making me blush.”

“Good.”

Xabi grinned, and Mesut grinned back, never having been more grateful for a friendship in his entire life. 

... 

The day of the football derby also being the last day of term meant that no one got any work done whatsoever. The teachers had well and truly given up and they were allowed to talk in most of their classes, only being given homework to do for the holidays.

The footballers were all very nervous. Thomas didn’t have his usual happy-go-lucky-ness, Bastian and Lukas were noticeably quiet, Manuel seemed to be deep in thought for most of the day, and Philipp could be seen poring over tactics for the entire day. Everyone else was excited for the game, and the following two weeks of freedom they had. 

When the final bell rang at 5 o’clock that afternoon, everyone seemed in relatively good spirits. Benni, Marco and Toni walked with Thomas and Mesut down to the fields, where Luitpold, in their bright yellow kits, were already warming up. “What a disgusting colour,” Thomas exclaimed.  

They could tell he was nervous. Everyone was nervous.

Marco, Benni and Toni found good seats in the stands and headed to the bathroom one by one to change into street clothes. It was going to get cold, and the uniforms didn’t do much to keep them warm.

The Weisburg boys were warming up when Benni returned, and as he walked back towards the stands Mats stopped training to run up to him in greeting.

“You came,” he said with a nervous grin. It was an interesting emotion on him, one that didn’t quite suit him. 

“Of course I did,” Benni smiled. 

“Can I have a hug for good luck?" 

Benni leaned over the barrier and wrapped his arms around Mats’ neck. “I’ll be cheering for you," Benni whispered into his ear, then he plucked up all the courage he could muster and pecked Mats quickly on the cheek as he drew away. “Good luck.”

Mats looked positively stunned for a second, then his expression slid into a grin. "Thanks. You better be." 

Benni gave him a wave, then gave both Thomas and Mesut high fives as they jogged past, before going off to find his seat in the stands. The seats were starting to fill up, it was nearly time for kickoff. If he was nervous, he couldn’t imagine what the players might be feeling.

…

The team returned to the dressing room for a final talk from Jogi and Philipp, then lined up in the tunnel. The starting eleven did their pre-match rituals, while the substitutes donned bibs, as the minutes ticked down. Manuel was jumping up and down, clapping his gloved hands together. Per was looking up at the ceiling - which was not that far away from his head. Mesut was talking in undertones with Xabi. Thomas stood behind Miro. He reached around Miro's waist and pulled the senior close to him, not caring who was looking. "We got this," he said softly, and pecked a kiss to the back of Miroslav's neck before letting him go. 

The other boy turned around and flashed him a smile. "We got this.”

The referees at the front beckoned them and with everyone drawing a collective deep breath, they made their way out onto the pitch.

...

Things didn't get off to a good start. As the clock turned over to the sixth minute, Luitpold turned counterattack after a Weisburg corner, and the defence were not prepared. They scrambled back, trying desperately to cover and win it back, but the striker was too quick, and Per's tackle was too late and just inside the box. 

The opposition boy went down hard, and rolled around clutching his foot, while the whistle sounded shrill against the background of Weisburg groans as the man blowing it pointed to the penalty spot.

The taker sent Manu the wrong way, and just like that, they were losing.

Philipp looked dismayed as boys traipsed back into position. He yelled some words of encouragement, and Mats saw everyone lift their heads up a bit. They could do this, everyone knew they could. 

Thomas passed to Miro to restart and they managed to retain possession for a good while, trying to probe the Luitpold defence. Bastian made a pass through to Mesut on the wing, who did well to earn a corner down the Luitpold end. Mats moved into the box, ready for Xabi’s delivery.

The entire crowd seemed to hold its breath as the Spanish boy took a few steps back and raised a hand to indicate he was ready. The ball curled in to the area and met Mats' head perfectly. He nodded it deftly towards the top right corner and watched it hit the net. The stands erupted. 

Mats found Xabi and they slapped both palms together in delight. The rest of the team engulfed them, and together they ran back to their own half, many breathing sighs of relief. Mats looked for Benni in the crowd and found him, grinning and clapping along with Marco and Toni. Mats tipped a very obvious wink at him. He could see the blush on Benni’s cheeks even from the distance.

They could most definitely do this. 

The score remained 1-1 until half time, but they retained the majority of possession. Miroslav knocked a complete sitter just wide right before the whistle went and looked absolutely furious with himself as they walked off the pitch. Mats saw Thomas go straight to him, trying to lift Miro’s head up. 

Jogi gave the senior a pat on the back and whispered a few words to him as they made their way into the dressing room. The bench had water bottles at the ready, and Mats gladly downed mouthful after mouthful. Thomas was subbed out for Mario - Jogi had congratulated him on his play, but told him he wanted him to rest, much to Thomas’ dismay - the boy’s enthusiasm never faltered. 

The coach didn’t seem overly pleased with the way they had conceded, but commended them on their following effort. “You can win this, boys, you can do it. Overall, you’ve been the better team. Now go out there and seal the deal.”

They jogged back out, the cheers of the home crowd ringing in their ears. Mats felt goosebumps. He looked quickly for Benni once more and found him; he looked incredibly adorable, a beanie pulled down over his ears, a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a box of fries clutched between his gloved hands. He gave Mats a wave, and Mats grinned back, especially when Marco and Toni both nudged the pianist with knowing smiles on their faces.

Within a minute they had possession again, despite the opposition kicking off. Their passing game was even better than in the first half, and it was clear Luitpold were already starting to tire, despite the break. 

After a good bit of passing from Mario, Mesut and Bastian, Miroslav was given a through ball and made up for his earlier mistake, slotting the ball perfectly through the keeper’s legs. Thomas ran off the bench and hugged Miro along with everyone else, and had to be escorted off by the linesmen much to everyone’s amusement.

2-1 up now, they were in control. But every opportunity Luitpold had to equalise left them with their hearts in their mouths. As it came down to the last fifteen minutes, they earned a corner, then another, then another, and everyone could feel the tension mounting. They were into injury time, but a goal was in the air.

Xabi’s third delivery was cleared by a Luitpold defender, but only as far as Mesut, who was on the semi circle at the top of the box, waiting for just that. He controlled the ball with his chest down to his feet, hitting it gracefully from his right foot to his favoured left as someone tried to tackle him, and volleyed it perfectly into the top of the net.

Everyone went wild. Manuel even ran from his box all the way to the end of the pitch to celebrate as the team jumped on Mesut. Jogi was punching the air on the sideline as the referee blew his whistle to signify the end of the game. Thomas had lead the substitute’s run onto the pitch and leapt into Miroslav’s arms in celebration.

As the dogpile that had formed over Mesut cleared, Mats got to his feet and looked for Benni once more in the stands. He was cheering and clapping and smiling and Mats grinned even harder.

They did the endgame formalities then carried on with the celebrations, for a derby win was always a special one.

Marco had headed over to Mario and Christoph, but Benni and Toni found Mesut and Thomas and gave them both tight hugs. They both looked ecstatic, but Mesut especially, and after that goal no one could blame him. 

Eventually Benni felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Mats grinning at him. “Hey,” the footballer said.

Benni hugged him. “Congratulations!” he laughed into Mats’ ear, feeling the other boy’s arms wrap around him in reciprocation. 

“We’ll leave you to it,” he heard Toni call, and his friends must have left for when he let go of Mats it was just the two of them. 

“So,” Mats grinned. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Very much so,” Benni smiled back. “You played really well.”

“Thank you,” Mats laughed. “Listen, we’re all headed to McDonald’s if you want to come. I presume Mario invited Marco but you can bring Toni too if you like.”

Benni was impressed Mats had remembered his friends’ names and nodded. “That would be cool.”  


“Sweet. I think we’re going in about fifteen minutes so just make your way down and I’ll see you there." 

“Okay!” 

Benni found Toni, who was with Thomas and Miro, and together they all walked down to McDonald’s.

There was a crowd of about twenty, and the staff seemed rather bemused as they all crowded into a long booth and around the surrounding tables. Thomas was sitting on Miroslav’s lap, Marco and Mario were sharing a seat, and everyone was smiling. 

Bastian ended up throwing his chicken nugget at Lukas and a miniature food fight ensued, culminating in the staff telling them to clean it up or get out. They chose the latter, Miroslav hurriedly apologising before rushing out to stop Bastian and Lukas getting in his car with their food.

“Benni!” Mats appeared at his shoulder. “You left your jumper at mine last time." 

“Did I?”

“Yeah. Do you want to come and get it and I can give you a lift home?”

Benni had no recollection of ever leaving a jumper at Mats, but nodded. “I suppose so.”

"Sweet.”

It was around 9.30 when everyone went their separate ways. Miroslav and Thomas had thrown Lukas, Bastian and Manuel out of Miro’s car and had probably gone back to the senior’s house. Mesut, Toni, Marco and Mario were all off to Christoph’s and the rest of the footballers seemed to be trying to get Xabi to drop them home. 

Mats drove Benni and him back to his. Benni found he couldn’t stop smiling, not only at how flirty Mats was being, but just how happy the footballer was. He hadn’t really realised it, but if Mats was happy, he was happy.

God he was so far gone for this stupid boy.

Mats lead him upstairs and threw open his cupboard doors. There was a short silence as Mats rummaged around, and Benni racked his brains as to which jumper he’d possibly have left behind, then Mats straightened up. “Okay I’m really nervous to say this but I really like you.”

Benni gaped at him - or rather, his back.

When Benni didn't reply he turned around and said "I lied. About the jumper. It was just an excuse to get you up here so I could kiss you properly. If you want, that is..."

"You had me fooled," Benedikt whispered, as Mats stepped towards him.

"My plan worked then," Mats chuckled, and the sound was low and sweet and Benedikt realised he loved nothing more than Mats' laugh. “Your gullibleness is adorable." 

“I’m pretty sure gullibleness isn’t a proper…” Benni trailed off as the footballer brought his hands up to cup Benni's cheeks, holding his face lightly. They gazed at each other for a few seconds then Mats finally closed the distance between their mouths. 

It was heaven. That was the only word to describe it. Mats' lips tasted divine, and it was the perfect speed, the perfect time, everything was perfect. But what more did he expect from Mats Hummels? He didn't know if he was doing it right, his hands were awkwardly hanging by his sides, so he rested them on Mats' waist, and was spurred on as the kiss deepened a little. They both surfaced for air, and stared at each other hungrily, then Mats pushed him to the bed, and they fell down, mouths sliding back together in a heated kiss. He had a few misgivings; if you didn't count their previous peck, spin the bottle, and a few dares in primary school, this was Benni's first proper kiss. But it felt ever so right, the way Mats held him, the feel of the other boy's mouth on his. Mats pushed him gently into the pillows, and positioned himself so that he was straddling Benni's waist, still joined at the lips. Mats was kissing him, slow, controlled kisses and he never wanted it to end. But the clock on the bedside table chiming the hour ripped him back to reality.

He pulled away from Mats suddenly, his eyes wide.

"Did I do something wrong?" Mats asked quickly, and the look of concern on his face was enough to make Benedikt's heart melt.

"I'm supposed to be home by now!" he said in a panic, and he tried to move but Mats' weight restricted him. He flailed beneath the other boy, but Mats just leaned down and kissed him softly, silencing his protests. "Shush, babe, I'll drive you home." 

_Babe_. Well that really shut him up. Cheeks crimson, he nodded mutely, and Mats dragged him downstairs by the hand.

"My mum is going to kill me," Benedikt muttered as he fell to the ground and slipped his shoes back on.

"Tell her she needs to relax a little and extend your curfew to a more reasonable time than 10 on the last day of term.”

"It's not a curfew, I just told her I was studying and promised I'd be back before 10 and - "

"I'm sure she won't mind if you're a few minutes late."

"You don't get it! I lied. She’s going to flip her shit. She's not like your mum, not like anyone's mum. Please can we just go?" He looked pleadingly and desperately up at Mats, who seemed to realise that he wasn't kidding around - he hadn't heard the pianist swear before. He extended a hand which Benni took and together they headed out to Mats' car, which was still parked in the driveway. Luckily, it was only a two minute drive to Benni's place, and they got there before ten past.

"I'm so sorry about this," Benedikt mumbled as they pulled into his driveway.

"Hey, look at me." Mats tilted Benedikt's face towards his and leant in for a soft kiss. "Tonight couldn't have gone any better, okay?"

"Okay," Benedikt whispered. "I'll text you."

"Sounds good. You are coming tomorrow, right?” 

“If I survive the night,” the pianist replied.

“Okay. Text me, yeah.” He pressed a final kiss to Benni’s flushed cheek, then the other boy ran up the front steps and disappeared through the front door before Mats could even put the car into reverse. It seemed that the pianist had a few things to tell him.

Inside the Höwedes household, Benni's mother was not happy.

"You're late," she said frostily as Benedikt ran into the kitchen panting a little.

"I know, I'm really sorry Mum, I lost track of time." He decided to try what Mats had told him. "It's only ten minutes, I got Mats to drive me home so it could have been worse - "

"You said you'd be back before ten, not at ten, let alone ten past ten. And who is Mats?"

"Friend from school," Benni mumbled.

"And why were you at his house?"

"We went there after the game - "

"What game? I thought you were studying with Mesut?"

His heart lurched as he realised his mistake. He’d been so caught up in what had happened that evening he’d forgotten his cover story. "I mean - "

"Benedikt Höwedes how dare you lie to me!"

Tears brimmed in Benni's eyes. He'd ruined everything. He wasn't going to be able to see Mats, he doubted he'd even be allowed out of the house. "Mum, I'm sorry, I really am, everyone was going and I thought you wouldn’t let me and - ” 

"Never lie to me, Benedikt." She said stonily. "The dishes are waiting for you, then you can vacuum round here, then I want you in your room. Give me your phone."

"Mum please - "

"Give me your phone and get to work."

Defeated, Benni did as he was told, handing over his phone. At least he wasn’t grounded. He did the dishes first, angry tears prickling his eyes as he heard his mother turn the television on in the other room. It wasn't fair. Then he retrieved the vacuum and started on that.

When he finished, he was in the kitchen and he quickly grabbed a glass of water, knowing before long he'd be in his room. His younger brother Samuel sat at the table doing homework and he came and gave Benni a hug. "Here take mine," he whispered, sliding his phone into Benedikt's pocket. "Just for tonight, I don't need it."

"You're the best," Benni whispered, then quickly drew away from his brother as he heard his mother's footfalls.

"Room! Now!" She ordered, and Benni scarpered upstairs, flinging himself onto his bed and curling into a ball.

The night had been going so well. Suddenly all the memories of his kiss with Mats came flooding back. It had been so perfect, so mind blowingly real - he'd kissed Mats Hummels. 

"I kissed Mats Hummels," he choked out, as confirmation that it had actually happened. Then he retrieved his brother's phone, and - luckily having written a list of all his contacts in case of situations like this - texted his friend.

_Hey it's Benni, my mum took my phone away :( I'm using my brother's_

The reply came through a couple of seconds later.

_Hey, is everything alright? I'm really sorry, I texted your usual phone a little while ago x - Mats_

_Yeah, I'm okay._ (That was a lie, but he didn't want Mats to worry.) _It's no big deal, don't worry about it x - Benni_  

_Are you sure? I can call you if you want to talk? Or we can just talk on here... I miss you already x - Mats_

_Yeah, I'm fine. Just on here is good. I miss you too x - Benni_

_Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to take your mind off it? I can do either :) x - Mats_

Benni felt better already.

_I'll talk to you about it in person. Can you take my mind off it? If I'm not keeping you up? x - Benni_

_Sure thing, sweetheart ;) i can tell you a funny story, an outstanding joke, or I can find a cute picture to send you. A, B, or C? xx - Mats_  

They texted until nearly midnight Mats sending him various cute animal pics and telling him awful jokes. But soon he was yawning, and his eyes were drooping, so he sent one final reply. 

_I'll have to give this phone back to Sam tomorrow, and I'm really exhausted so I'm going to go to sleep...I should have my phone back by tomorrow, but I'll see you at yours anyway. Luckily I’m not grounded…Thank you for cheering me up :D you're the best xx - Benni_

He tucked the phone under his pillow, and shut his eyes. Mats' reply sounded about a minute later, and he checked it.

_Okay, stay strong for me. I'll see you tomorrow, I'm looking forward to it :) and anytime, goodnight xxxxx - Mats_  

Benedikt felt like Mats knew something wasn't quite right, and it made his stomach churn at the fact he'd have to tell him his depressing life story. But for now, he just grinned at the reply, especially those kisses on the end, and shut his eyes, memories of their real life kiss the last thing he thought of before he fell to sleep.

...

Downstairs, Sonja Höwedes turned her son's phone on and looked at the notifications. There were four messages - three from the boy he'd mentioned, Mats, and one from another of his friends, Thomas Müller. 

The one from Müller was self explanatory;

_Did we have any Bio homework? - Mülli_  

But the three from Mats made her very confused.

_I had the best night tonight :) x - Matsi_

_This time you actually did leave your jacket at my house hahahaha - Matsi_

_I hope everything's okay x - Matsi_

Those 'x's made her skin crawl. Her son had a lot of explaining to do.

...

Across town, Miroslav and Thomas had had a much more pleasant end to their evening. They'd gone for ice cream at a shop down the road from Miro's place after the game, then spent a good few hours talking and making out on Miro's couch. Thomas tasted like a delicious mixture of ice cream and himself, and Miroslav had pulled him down and refused to let him go, attacking his mouth with his own. Soon they were both bare chested, despite the cold, and Thomas was lying on top of Miro, his legs straddling the senior's hips, while Miroslav's hands ranged around his chest and ass. It was nearly 1 in the morning when Thomas finally dragged his lips away from the other boy's.

"I should really go home..." he laughed, but he leant down and began kissing Miro's neck.

"No..." Miro whined. "Just stay."

"My parents will worry," Thomas muttered against Miro's skin.

"Your parents will not worry," Miroslav chuckled, reaching up to bury his hand in the younger boy's hair.

"I'll be grounded," Thomas smirked, pressing another kiss against Miro's neck. "And you won't get to see me..." He nipped a little at the skin. "And it will be all," - he began climbing up Miro's neck - "your" - he pressed a kiss to Miro's jaw - "fault." He ghosted across Miro's lips, but settled for kissing his nose, making them both laugh softly.

"What if I do this?" Miroslav said, cupping Thomas' ass, then sliding his hand below the waistband of the younger boy's shorts.

"Well that changes things," Thomas replied, his voice husky.

"What about this?" Miroslav brought his other hand between Thomas' thighs, then travelled up to his crotch. "Maybe if you stay things will get a little hotter..."

Thomas gazed at him with lust filled eyes, then kissed him hard, while Miro's hands explored some more.

"I can't believe you're bribing me with sex."

"Not sex," Miroslav laughed. "Maybe just a quick hand job."

"Maybe I'll stay a little longer then..." Thomas grinded down against Miro's hips. 

"Take your shorts off." The senior said, and Thomas rolled off him for a second to shimmy off his kit. Then Miroslav shuffled up behind him and pulled his underwear off too. "Lie back," Miro instructed. Thomas did so, and Miroslav splayed his legs apart and settled between them. He leaned up and gave Thomas a quick kiss, then slid his hand down the younger boys chest towards his nether regions. 

A beautiful, sweet moan escaped Thomas lips as Miro stroked him. The younger boy's head thunked backwards onto the arm of the couch, groaning at every touch Miro gave him. "Oh yeah....." He drawled, as Miroslav began rubbing circles on his bare thigh in the same rhythm as his strokes.

"Fuck, Miro," he moaned, and twitched in the senior’s hand. "Faster." 

Miroslav obliged, beginning to work Thomas closer to his orgasm. The younger boy was panting, and began to thrust his hips up to meet Miroslav's hand.

"God I'm close," Thomas gasped, canting his hips up desperately. He was a beautiful sight, splayed out before Miroslav, coming undone for him.

Miro pumped his hand faster, and thumbed at Thomas' slit, and with a few strokes of that spot, and a few more flicks of his wrist, Thomas came with a gasp of Miro’s name, his head thrown back, a look of absolute pleasure on his face. While he came back down from his high, Miroslav got up and grabbed a tissue. He dropped a kiss to Thomas' forehead, then cleaned the boy up. Thomas had thrown a hand across his eyes, a beautiful smile on his face.

"That was so good," he mumbled, once Miroslav had wiped down his torso. “Do you want me to do you?”

"You better return the favour sometime," Miro smirked, pressing a kiss to his lips. "But for now, stay the night."

"Sure thing babe." He was still shamelessly naked, but he let Miroslav pull him through to his bedroom.

"How old are you again?" Miro muttered once he'd given Thomas a pair of sweatpants and they'd fallen into bed, Miroslav the little spoon, Thomas' arms tight around him. 

"17 in May." 

"Jesus," Miro laughed softly. "You're practically underage."

"Not quite. You can do anything you like to me," Thomas said, pressing a kiss to Miro's neck.

"That wasn't the first handjob you've been given, was it?" 

"How do you know?"

"Virgin 16 year olds would be far less compliant with their 18 year old boyf- uh I mean, friend, jacking them off."

Thomas froze. “What did you say?” he whispered, then wriggled into a sitting position. 

Miroslav rolled onto his back and looked up at him, his cheeks slightly pink. “Uh… nothing,” he visibly gulped.

“You were going to say ‘boyfriend,’” Thomas said.

They stared at each other for a second or two, then Miroslav propped himself up on his elbows and sighed. “I’ve dug myself a hole, so I might as well just ask you. Do you want to be my boyfriend?" 

“Yes,” Thomas answered straight away, then leaned down and kissed him. Miroslav’s hands came up and clutched his face, as the kiss deepened, and Thomas swung a leg over his waist. They broke apart, and Thomas looked down at him, his _boyfriend,_ looking as beautiful as ever, his lips wet and red, his eyes boring into Thomas’; he almost squirmed under their scrutiny, for each time he felt like Miroslav was reading him, and he feared that he was a painfully open book.

Miro smiled. “Good.” He tugged at Thomas’ shirt, and the younger boy let himself be pulled into Miroslav’s arms. He melted into the embrace, smiled at the kisses Miro was pressing into the dip of his collarbone. 

“By the way, I am a virgin," Thomas said after some time.

Miroslav pressed a chaste kiss onto his lips, then said "You've done _stuff_ , though, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"I thought so."

Thomas let out a long yawn and Miroslav chuckled. "Sleep, gorgeous."

"Sounds good to me," the younger boy said. 

"Goodnight," Miro mumbled after a while, but Thomas, so at ease and so comfortable, was already asleep. 

…

Thomas woke to the sound of Miroslav's phone ringing. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and looked down for a second at the sight before him. Miro was snoozing, his head in the crook of Thomas' arm, his legs tucked up and fitting perfectly with Thomas', and a peaceful expression on his face. He looked beautiful, Thomas marvelled at it, and the fact that Miroslav was here, in his arms. And they were official. Ever since around 1 in the morning, he’d been _dating_ Miroslav Klose. He grinned at the thought, and took the opportunity to press a gentle kiss into Miro's hair, then reached for the phone.

"Thomas Müller on Miro's phone," he answered, wriggling up the bed a little so that he could talk comfortably while not disturbing the boy - his _boyfriend -_ sleeping in his arms.  

"Oh hey Thomas." It was Mats. "Why are you at Miro's this early in the morning?"

"I stayed the night," Thomas said nonchalantly.

"Did you now?" Mats asked, his tone laced with mischief.

“Yes,” Thomas said with an air of superiority. “Am I not allowed to spend a night at my boyfriend’s?" 

Thomas heard a sharp intake of breath, then a lot of clattering about and a loud “What the fuck!" 

“Did he ask you out!” Mats practically yelled down the phone.

Thomas had to hold it away from his ear, but grinned as he replied. “Yes he did.” 

“Thank the fucking Lord, thank Jesus, thank everyone, tell him he sucks so much but also that I was fucking right!" 

Thomas laughed. Mats was interesting. “I will. What were you calling him for?”  


“To tell him to bring some good drinks tonight.”  
  
Miro was stirring in Thomas’ arms. “I’ll let him know.”

“And to let him know I kissed Benni last night.”

“You fucking didn’t!” Thomas exclaimed, not even caring about waking Miroslav. 

“I’ll tell you all about it tonight,” Mats said proudly.

“Why didn’t he text me!”  
  
“His phone got confiscated.”

“Oh. Shit.” 

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about that as well. Okay, anyway, I’ll see you two tonight. I can’t wait to congratulate the happy couple.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Okay, see you later.”

“Later, Tommy boy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Mats had already hung up.

“Who was that?” A sleepy Miroslav mumbled. Thomas grinned and brushed a hand through his boyfriend’s messy hair. 

“Mats. He told me to tell you that you suck so much and that he was right.” 

“Asshole,” Miro chuckled into Thomas’ chest.

“Oh and he wanted you to buy some drinks for tonight." 

“Asshole.”

Thomas pressed a kiss to Miro’s forehead. “I thought you might say that. But he kissed Benni last night so I suppose that makes up for it.”

“He did not!” Miroslav’s head shot up, almost whacking Thomas under the chin. 

“That’s what Mats told me.”

“Did it go okay?”

“From what I heard, yes. I’m going to make them kiss tonight to prove it to me.”

“You’re evil, you know that?”

“Oh I know,” Thomas laughed, and kissed his boyfriend - it still felt infinitely good to be able to use that label - on the mouth.

…

Benni headed downstairs late next morning to find his phone sitting on the table. He pocketed it, grateful that the punishment wasn’t any worse. His mum was in the kitchen cooking something, and he sat down at the table with Sam, sliding his brother’s phone across to him quickly. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” he whispered back.

“You’re in time for lunch Benedikt,” came his mother’s voice from the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Benni replied. 

They ate in silence. Sam finished fast and headed off to watch television. Benedikt ate as quickly as he could, then mentioned he had to go to Thomas’ for a music practice - a cover story of course. Benni hated lying but it was the only way he could get out of the house. 

His mum was scarily cold towards him, but said he could go. He was surprised he was even allowed out at all.

“I’m staying the night at Thomas’ but I’ll be back in time for lunch tomorrow.”

“And you’ll be on time this time?" 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She turned back to the cooking and Benni took this as his cue to leave. But just as he got to the door, she called him back. “We need to have a talk when you return.”

Benni’s heart was in his mouth. _The texts._ She’d seen the texts. She knew. 

She turned around and smiled at him. The smile was all wrong. “See you tomorrow, Benedikt.”

He nodded. He was scared out of his mind. She knew.

At least he was going to be able to see Mats. He needed to tell him these things, before something happened. 

When he got back up to his room, he shut the door and called his friend. 

“Hey you,” Mats’ voice sounded halfway through the second ring. 

“Hi,” Benni smiled. “Um, listen, I need to talk to you, I was wondering if I could come round now?”

“Sure thing,” Mats said. “Head over as soon as you can.”  


“Okay.”  
  
“See you soon.” 

“Yep."

Benni hung up, picked up his overnight bag and headed back downstairs. “Have a good evening, Mum,” he said. She didn’t respond. 

The walk was only five minutes and he got to Mats’ at 6.30, half an hour before everyone else was due to arrive. He knocked, and moved from one foot to the other as he waited for the door to open. 

He suddenly realised he hadn’t properly done his hair and had no idea how it looked. He tried to smooth it down with his hand but to no avail, for Mats opened the door and he just had to go with whatever he had.

“Hey. You’re so cute,” Mats grinned. “What have you done to your hair?" 

Benni blushed. 

“Here,” Mats reached up and smoothed it down properly, then gave Benni a beautiful smile and kissed him gently on the lips. “That’s better.” He lead Benni through to the lounge and sat him down. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just… there’s stuff I need to tell you about me.”

“Like?”

“My mum. I don’t want to be a buzzkill or anything for tonight but you need to know, and I can tell already that you know something’s up.”

“Yeah. I could tell.”

“She’s not like your mum. She’s strict. And she’s conservative. And we don’t get on. I’m not openly gay with my family. She has no idea that I like boys.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“She left him when me and Sam were really young. Apparently he’s an asshole. I don’t have any way of contacting him.”

“What happened last night after you went inside?" 

“She yelled at me for lying to her and breaking my curfew, then she took my phone off me and made me do some chores, then sent me to my room. I know it doesn’t sound bad, but she’s done worse. She wants to have a talk with me tomorrow about things." 

“And she saw the texts I sent you?”

“I think she did. I… I’m really scared.”

“Don’t be scared,” Mats said gently. “It’s going to be okay. And you’ve got me, yeah?”

“Yeah." 

Mats pecked him on the forehead. “We can talk about this more later, okay? If you want? But for now, we’re going to take your mind off it the best way I know how.”

Benni smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

…

“YOU’RE OFFICIAL?” Xabi yelled after Mats ran at Miroslav and Thomas offering his congratulations when they turned up.

A huge cheer went up and both boys blushed. 

Miroslav regained composure quick enough to turn the focus towards Mats instead.   
  
“Well Mats and Benni kissed, and I think that’s more exciting.”

“YOU KISSED?” Manuel yelled. 

Thomas then cajoled them into kissing again, and as neither of them seemed to mind, they had a little make out session against a wall, which got huge whoops. Benni felt incredibly flustered when Mats finally let him go - his lips were raw and he felt warm and lightheaded.

Mats got him a drink, gave him a final kiss and went off to talk to someone else. Benni made his way towards Mesut and Toni, who were grinning at him like crazy. “Look at you,” Toni exclaimed. “When and how did that happen!" 

“Last night,” Benni said, and couldn’t keep the smile off his face. It would remain there for the rest of the night.

…

Everyone was at least moderately drunk. Lukas had lost incredibly badly at beer pong and was now challenging Manuel to shots, which seemed like a very bad idea as the keeper took his liquor very well.

Bastian was already on his fourth - he was almost drinking out of sympathy from himself. He couldn’t stop staring at Lukas. His friend didn’t stop smiling and it was irresistible. But then he didn’t know if it was just the alcohol talking.

Lukas of course lost at shots and stumbled over to Bastian, who was sitting on the couch. He fell down next to him and rested his head on Bastian’s shoulder. “Basti,” he giggled, stringing out the last syllable into a whiney noise. “I love you Basti. You’re the bestest friend I ever had.”

This was not fair. Bastian gave his friend’s hair a ruffle, acting like his heart wasn’t yearning for those words to be said in a different context.

“Seriously,” Lukas said, his eyes wide. “You are the best. I love you, man." 

“Okay, Luki,” Bastian laughed shakily, easing Lukas’ head down onto the arm of the couch. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

Lukas just grinned up at him.

…

Miroslav had Thomas up against the wall and was whispering unknown things in his ear while Thomas pressed kisses against his neck and watched Sami and Manuel trying to get Toni drunk a little way away. Philipp appeared at Miro’s shoulder, looking strained. Thomas gave Miro a final kiss and whispered “I’ll catch up with you later,” before heading off somewhere else.

“Basti hasn’t stopped staring at Lukas all night,” Philipp announced so that only Miroslav could hear him. “If he’s not careful, Poldi’s going to realise something’s up. Even if he’s completely pissed.”

Miroslav looked over at the blond. Indeed, Bastian would sneak a glance at Lukas every little while, and not discreetly either. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Miroslav sighed. “He’s a bit drunk, he’s not going to remember anything I tell him now." 

“Okay,” Philipp sighed. “I feel like a dad looking after all my children.”

“You are, Fips. That’s pretty much your role as captain."

“Great. Thanks a lot, Miro.”

“I’m helping you! I said I’d talk to him!”

“True,” Philipp conceded. “It’s just a bit of a pain that he happens to be vice captain. God, I don’t know how Ballack made this look so easy. It’s like dealing with a bunch of overgrown children.”

“You’re doing a swell job, Fipsy.”

The captain rolled his eyes. “Have a good night, Miro.”

“You too, Mister Captain sir.”

“Oh shut up."

… 

Mats was very drunk by the end of the night and was hanging off Benni’s arm. “Benedikt Höwedes,” he slurred. “Did you know, that you are the cutest person, that I have _ever_ met? In my entire life? You’re just really, really cute. And I’m really glad I kissed you. Now I can kiss you all the time.”

Benni was laughing. “Come on Matsi, let’s sit down before you fall over.”  


“Do I get to kiss you?”  


“If you like." 

“Good." 

Benni lowered Mats to the couch. The footballer instantly grabbed his face and kissed him. Benni himself had had a couple of drinks and was a bit tipsy, and kissed him back. He still wasn’t sure if he was doing it right, and he made a mental note to ask Mats if he was or not - that would be an awkward conversation for sure. That was the thing with Mats though; Benni knew that despite his rather cocky and arrogant exterior, Mats never judged him.

Meanwhile, he just focused on kissing Mats back as best he could. He liked the way Mats held his face when they kissed, liked the feel of the tips of Mats’ fingers against his skin, liked the way Mats’ mouth moved on his. He liked everything everything about Mats.

He heard some more catcalls; Thomas had been doing them all night. 

Mats broke away from him and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Let’s save it for another time, yeah?”

Benni didn’t know how Mats made such good decisions when he was drunk. He nodded, but couldn’t resist one last kiss. He went up on his tippy toes - Mats always had to lean down to kiss him due to their being a rather decent height difference between the two of them - and pecked him on the lips. He felt Mats smile. “You’re really getting into this.”

Benni nodded.

“Not so derisive anymore, are we?”

Benni hit him.

…

Lukas was curled up asleep on the couch, the blanket Bastian had acquired draped carefully over him. Bastian wanted nothing more than to snuggle up next to him, to wrap Lukas in his arms and never let him go.

This was really starting to scare him. The thoughts he was having were past the crush stage, he wanted Lukas - really wanted him. Not just physically, but romantically, he wanted to hold Lukas’ hand, wanted to make him happy, wanted to be the source of that beautiful, beautiful smile that Lukas would smile. 

“Mate,” a very drunk Miroslav appeared next to him and followed his gaze to Lukas. “We really need to have a talk about this.”

Bastian nodded defeatedly. 

“Cheer up,” Miroslav said. 

“I can’t.”

“Well you’re just the life and soul of the party then, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off, Miro.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“You’re not doing a very good job. Go suck Thomas’ dick or something.”

“Fine then,” Miro made a face at him. “Maybe I will." 

Bastian watched him stagger away and wondered whether he would go do stuff with Thomas. It hurt more than he realised to watch everyone getting into relationships while he was stuck drowning in a whirlpool of confusion and emotion, for someone he knew he couldn’t have these sorts of feelings for.

But when he looked over at Lukas, everything felt right. Lukas made everything okay.

In the blur of his mind, one thought formed cohesively; he was fucking screwed.

... 

When Bastian opened the door the next morning, hair dishevelled, a crudely drawn penis emblazoned in permanent marker on his bare shoulder, his pyjama pants on the wrong way round, Miroslav knew he had every reason to come to talk to his friend.

“We need to have a little talk, Schweini,” Miro said, and stepped inside.

“How do you always looks so good? Are you even hungover?” Bastian followed a very well dressed Miro through to the kitchen where the senior poured himself a glass of water.  


“I am very hungover,” he said sincerely, rummaging around in the cupboards above the sink. “Where is your panadol?” The cupboard door swung shut loudly and Miroslav winced. 

Once both boys had thrown back some pills and willed their headaches to go away, they headed upstairs and fell onto the couch in Bastian’s room.

“Before we even get to my mess, why didn’t you fucking tell me you and Mülli were official?”

Miroslav shrugged. “You know me. Not really the shout it from the rooftops kinda guy.”  
  
“Fuck you. You could’ve at least told me.” Bastian glowered at his friend. 

“I feel like your issues are something we should be much more concerned about.”

Bastian ran his hands down his face and let out a sigh. “I don’t have the faintest clue what I’m doing, Miro.”

“You like Poldi?" 

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I’ve always had these feelings, every time we were both single and ideas would pop into my head but I’d always be able to move on, but this time I can’t.” 

“I understand." 

“I don’t." 

“He’s a good looking guy. You guys are close. It’s not unusual that you’ve developed feelings for him.”  


“But he’s so not gay.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”  


“Are you sure you’re sure?”  


“Miro he’s like the straightest person I know.”

Miroslav sighed. “Shit, Basti. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I don’t know. God I needed a holiday.”

“What’s he doing?”  
  
“Family stuff. By the way, is your house in Italy free these holidays?”

Miro looked guilty. “Um… I kinda invited Tom. We were just going to go by ourselves.”

“I’ve been replaced!” Bastian said in mock outrage. “I am so hurt."

“We’ll be back before New Years. We’re leaving the day after Christmas and we’ll be back on the 31st so we can party at yours.”

“Maybe I’ll uninvite you both." 

“Oh fuck off Basti,” Miro laughed.

“I can’t believe you invited Thomas and not the rest of us. I thought it was bros before hos.”

“Thomas isn’t my ho,” Miroslav said very seriously, which just made Bastian crack up laughing. 

It took him a good few minutes to stop, in which Miroslav became even more unimpressed. “You suck. This is why I invited Thomas and not you.”

“Are you saying Thomas is more mature than me?” Bastian said indignantly. “Now _that_ is an insult.”

“Oh shut up you big loser.”

“I’m uninviting you from my New Year’s party.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m doing it.”

“Don’t you even think about it.”

“It’s done.”

“Are you fucking serious.”

“You are no longer in the Facebook event." 

“You’re such a fucking loser. It’s going to be great not seeing you for a week while I’m away in Italy with my boyfriend.”

“You’re just going to rub this in, aren’t you?”

“You would be correct. Now add me back into the event." 

“No. Have fun with your ho in Italy."

“If we weren’t old family friends I wouldn’t put up with you.”

“Yes you would. You manage to put up with Thomas.”

“Stop insulting my ho.”

And Bastian was off laughing again. Miroslav doubted he would stop.

…

“Honey?” Erik quickly turned down his music as his mother’s voice sounded outside the door.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Marco’s here to see you.”

Erik felt his heart stutter. “Uh… okay, one sec.” His legs were like jelly but he got to his feet and crossed to the door, and opened it to find Marco standing before him.

“Hi,” the other boy said quietly. 

“Hey,” Erik said. “Come in,” he stepped back to let Marco into the room. The older boy was wearing tight dark skinny jeans and Erik couldn’t help staring at his ass as he walked.

Marco hovered awkwardly near the bed, and Erik couldn’t bring himself to ask him to sit down. Marco seemed to realise this, and the tension in the room, and said “My mum told me you’re not coming away with us.”

Erik shook his head. “I’m not.”

“Why not?" 

“I just need some time alone, you know.” 

Marco’s eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “But you never hang out with us anyway!”  


“Yes I do,” Erik protested, knowing full well it wasn’t the truth. “I just need a holiday where I can relax." 

“You can relax if you come away with us!”

“No I can’t.”

Marco looked forlorn and Erik’s heart swelled. Marco did care about him. Just not in the way he wanted. “But I wanted to spend some time with you,” Marco said quietly, almost defeatedly. “We haven’t been as close recently." 

“You spend all your time with Mario, so I’m not sure why you’re surprised.” Marco looked obviously hurt, and spluttered out a few things, never quite making any words. Erik just shrugged. “I get how it is, Marco.”

“But - but I - I don’t spend all my time - I don’t get it, why are you jealous of him? He’s different, he’s the guy I like but _you’re_ my best friend. I don’t understand why you don’t want to spend time with me?”

Marco looked ever so confused and Erik hated that he was so oblivious to his crush. It evidently hadn’t even crossed Marco’s mind that Erik might be jealous for other reasons. 

Erik looked at him for a few seconds, then made a decision. “I just don’t. I don’t want to be friends any more, okay?”

At this, Marco’s eyes widened, and he looked like Erik had slapped him across the face.

“Have a good holiday,” Erik said halfheartedly, and stared at the ground. 

Marco didn’t reply. He pushed past Erik out the door and the younger boy heard him storm down the stairs and leave the house, for what felt like it could be the last time. 

Erik fell onto his bed face first and curled his legs to his chest. Silent tears leaked from his eyes into the sheets, and only when he heard the door open again and his mother come in did he let out a sob.

“Sweetie, what happened?” Christine Durm sat down on the bed next to her son and laid a hand on his arm. 

“I don’t even know,” Erik choked out. 

She pulled his head into her lap and stroked his hair, while he cried tears he knew he shouldn’t be crying. It was better this way. He wouldn’t have to go through any more pain. Whatever he and Marco had had, be it friendship or Erik’s hopeless crush, was gone. It was all over. 

“It’s okay,” his mother said softly, wiping his tears away, but even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to deal with Marco anymore, Erik felt anything but okay.

 ……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going strong with one chapter a month! Hope you guys are still enjoying it. I really liked this chapter, so I hope you feel the same way! It was a real biggie, 12k jesus what am I doing, I should be studying this year actually counts....... I've been sick and busy and bleh life is very hard but my crush actually talked to me!!!!!!!!!! what a fucking miracle!!!!! i'm a mess!!!!!!!!!!!!! school is hard, all I want to do is watch football (i'm posting this just after the arsenal win hell yessssssss)
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and subscriptions mean the world to me and I will be forever grateful if you give me feedback in any way!! Please tell me if you want to see more of a particular pairing, or any general suggestions I'd love to hear from you!!!! 
> 
> There are some good things in store, I promise, just bear with me and I'll see you next month :)
> 
> What even are these chapter notes who knows I hope you enjoy them and the chapter itself!!!!  
> Thank you so much for reading!!! <33333
> 
>  
> 
> I do far too many exclamation marks


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holidays bring something different for each of our boys, before they all come together to bring in the New Year at Bastian's, as is tradition.

Thomas had insisted that he and Miroslav go on a double date with Mats and Benni, and Benni had been unable to refuse. Tensions were still a little high with his mother, and so he bussed to the mall, lying (and feeling guilty about it) that he was going to study at the library.

He was the last to get there and spotted Mats, Thomas and Miro standing under the entrance to the mall, looking cold.

Thomas looked utterly ridiculous. He was wearing bright red trackies, a mustardy coloured jumper that was probably two sizes too big for him, mittens, a blue scarf and matching beanie, and was jumping up and down to fight the cold. Miroslav stood next to him, his arms folded and looking utterly unimpressed. He was a direct contrast to his boyfriend; he wore a stylish black coat over a khaki knit and black skinny jeans, with grey gloves and no beanie, only a narrow scarf looped around his neck. It was rather amusing, Benedikt thought.

“Can we please pretend we don’t know him?” The senior asked, looking completely done with his boyfriend’s antics - Thomas was now blowing into his hands aggressively.

“You invited him,” Mats smirked.

“Are you embarrassed Mirek?” Thomas chuckled, wrapping his arms around Miroslav’s waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Miro shied away and made a face at him. “Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

They made their way inside, Miroslav trying to push Thomas away and failing; Thomas ended up hanging onto his hand, his mittens engulfing Miro’s fingers. Miroslav was evidently trying his best to look exasperated, but seemed unable to fight the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Mats was chatting away to Benni, and insisted that he was going to pay. “Come on, it’s a date, let me pay.”

Benni shot back with “Who decided you were the gentleman here?”

Mats just smirked, and leant in and pecked Benni on the cheek, not even granting the pianist an answer. Benni had blushed crimson; he couldn’t stop doing that whenever Mats kissed him. Thomas was looking like a proud mother.

It was still a bit surreal that he was on what was probably considered a date with Mats Hummels. Benni kept blinking stupidly when Mats did something cute, as if he was trying to wake himself up from a dream.

The movie was good. This didn’t seem to concern Thomas and Miro however, as they started making out about a third of the way through. Mats had an arm on the top of Benni’s seat, but had made no advances. When Thomas seemed to climb on top of Miro, risking Mats getting hit by flailing body parts, the footballer moved so he was sitting the other side of Benni, moved the armrest up then wrapped his arm properly around Benni’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

Benni was a bit nervous that Mats would want to do the same as Miro and Thomas, but his date seemed satisfied until the protagonist finally shared a kiss with the love interest, and Mats tilted Benni’s head up and kissed him too. They ended up making out for a bit - Benni _still_ wasn’t sure if he was doing it right but Mats made no indication of disapproval.

“Did you watch any of the movie?” Mats laughed as the four of them walked out. Thomas had lost the mittens and the scarf, and both the other boys’ cheeks were flushed.  
 “Nah,” Thomas shrugged.

“We never do,” Miro smirked.

“That’s just a waste of money,” Benni said.

“Yeah, you can make out at home, why go to the movies to do it?”

Miroslav and Thomas shared a look and both started laughing. “It’s more fun this way,” Miro chuckled.

“I don’t want to know what you two get up to in the back of movie theatres,” Benni shook his head. They shared another look. Benni gave Thomas a shove. “Disgusting.”

They ended up in the food court - again Mats insisted he pay for Benni’s food - in a booth. Thomas had wolfed down his burger, nuggets and sundae and was now stealing Miro’s chips.

“Last time we had chips it ended badly,” Miro told him.

“Whose fault was that?” Thomas said mischievously, pinching some more. “We’ll be fine as long as you don’t start throwing them around.”

“Why do I even put up with you,” Miroslav sighed.

Thomas grabbed a chip and tried to feed it to Miroslav. The senior kept his mouth shut in a hard line. Thomas pouted. “I’ll just eat it then.”    
Mats rolled his eyes at Benni. “They’re like a married couple.”

Neither Miro nor Thomas seemed to hear them.

Mats had his hand on Benni’s thigh under the table and was tracing little circles with his fingers. Benni couldn’t stop smiling. Thomas and Miro eventually left together and Mats drove Benni back home. He dropped Benni a block away from his house so he could get home in the same way he’d left. The footballer got out of his car too and gave Benni a hug, then left a quick kiss on his lips, and grinned; “Today was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

Benni was rendered a stammering mess, blushing crimson in the process, and just making Mats smile even more.

“Text me, yeah babe?”

“Y-yeah,” Benni spluttered at the pet name. _Mats Hummels just called him babe._

Mats got back in his car, waving enthusiastically at Benni and beeping the horn as he drove away. It took Benni a little while to regain his composure. He felt wonderfully light headed, his jaw aching from smiling, still able to taste Mats on his lips.

Kissing was fun. He didn’t even know if Mats was considered a good kisser - he probably was - but Benedikt had found his new favourite thing to do. It was slightly scary how quickly their relationship had changed. Before camp he’d had no idea that he would be kissing Mats a few weeks later.

He walked home in a daze, unable to stop smiling. His mother had the TV on loud when he walked in, and it was a bit of a reminder to act natural - he was supposed to have been at the library, not kissing Mats Hummels at the cinema.

“I’m back, Mum,” Benni announced, peering round the door into the lounge. His mother sat on the couch, and looked up with a rather strange expression on her face.

“Good, take a seat Benedikt.” She muted the tv. It was coming up to 2 o’clock, which meant that Sam was still out at football. Benni panicked; this was going to be about the texts and it was not going to be good.

“It has come to my attention that you are quite friendly with some of the boys at your school.”

“They’re my friends, yes,” Benni said carefully.

“This Mats boy who you saw the other day: is he a friend?”

Benni’s stomach was doing flips. “Uh, yes.”

“Just a friend?”

Benedikt couldn’t meet her gaze. “What else would he be?” He asked, staring off into space. This was exactly what he’d been dreading.

“Does he always put an ‘x’ at the end of his texts?”

Benni gulped. “Um… It’s just a thing we do. He’s just a friend.”

“Is he gay?”

“I - uh I - I’m not too sure if - ”

“If he is, I don’t want you to see him anymore. It’s not a good influence on you. I don’t want you turning in to a fag like some of the other boys at that school of yours. I mean in an all boys school there’s bound to be some, but you can’t let that happen to you. You’re not to see him.”

“Mum, he’s my friend - ”

“I don’t care what he is. I don’t want you associating with … that type of people.”

“What’s wrong with being gay?” He clenched his fists in anger, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

She looked at him like he was mad. “It’s not natural and it’s disgusting. No son of mine will be turned into a poofter, I will tell you that now. And if I catch you around this Mats boy again, I’m taking you out of school, you hear me?”

Benni blinked away the angry tears that pricked at his eyes. He nodded mutely. His mother seemed pleased.

“Good,” she said. “You can go.”

He did so, heading up to his room and falling onto his bed in total frustration. How could he ever even think about coming out when his mother held such opinions? She evidently did not even consider the possibility of Benni not being straight. He punched his pillow in anger and turned over. Just when he and Mats were actually getting somewhere, and his mother had ruined it. He’d hoped that maybe she wouldn’t be so judgmental, but now he realised he was foolish to even have those hopes. As usual, she was making his life far more difficult than it should be.

…

“How you holding up?” Toni asked. He was round at Erik’s, sitting on the couch opposite the younger boy.

Erik just shrugged.  
 “Have you talked to him since last time?”

Erik shook his head.

“So he’s away with his family and your family, but not Mario, and he wanted you to come with them but you said no?”

Erik nodded.

“He evidently cares about you.”

“It’s just not in the way I want,” Erik said quietly.

“It’s not in the way you want. But why sacrifice your friendship with him?”

“It hurts too much to know that all he will ever want is friendship.”

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

Erik looked at him like he was mad.

“Okay, maybe not,” Toni conceded.

“This way is the best way. I don’t have to see him. It’s easier for me.”

“Are you coming to Bastian’s New Year’s party?”

“Is he going?”

“I presume so.”

“Then no.”

“Come on Erik! You can’t let him stop you from living your life.”

“If he’s there I’m not going.”

“There’s going to be like 200 people there, Bastian knows everyone. You just avoid him.”

“Nope.”

“Come on,” Toni whined. “Maybe you could meet someone else! The only way you’re going to get over Marco is if you meet someone else!”

“I don’t want to get over him,” Erik murmured.

“Well then what do you want?” Toni exclaimed.

 Erik was silent for a second and then said; “I want to be in Mario’s position.”

“But Mario’s in Mario’s position, and I’m sorry to say it but you lost your chance.”

“I know,” Erik snapped, and Toni felt a bit bad for being so honest with the boy.

“Look,” Toni said, gentler this time. “You’re 16. You’re _only_ _16_. There’s going to be so many more boys in your life who you feel the same way about as Marco. And those boys are going to feel the same way about you, you’ve just got to get past this! How long have you been crushing on him? Tell me. Be honest.”

Erik went pink and mumbled “A few years.”

“Since when?”  Erik blushed even more. “Since I was 11.”

“You’ve been crushing on him for 5 years - jesus Erik, _five years?_ \- and now you need to get over him. Either tell him, or you just have to move on.”

“I can’t just move on - ”

“We both know it won’t just happen overnight but you have to work at it. You can do it. And if you come to Bastian’s maybe we can get you with a nice cute boy to help you get over it.”  Erik looked uncertain, but eventually nodded. “Maybe.”

“You’re coming whether you like it or not,” said Toni.

Erik chuckled a bit. “Thanks, Toni.”

“No problem mate. I’ve got your back, okay?”

“Okay.”

…

Mesut’s parents left two days before Christmas and Mesut waved them out the door feeling rather relieved. He was looking forward to going to Xabi’s. Despite having been friends for nearly half a year, and Xabi having been round to Mesut’s numerous times, this was to be the first time that Mesut had been to the Alonso household.

His overnight bag was packed and he’d checked all the doors and windows were locked three times over. He was going to be at Xabi’s for three days, including Christmas and he could not wait. There was the small complication that he had not told his parents, and if they ended up ringing the house he would not be there. He had not relayed this information to Xabi - instead had told his friend his parents were fine with it, when in reality they were probably anything but it.

Xabi’s text told him he could come round at any time. Mesut really just wanted to get out of his house as soon as possible, so sent a text, then began the walk to his friend’s.

_leaving now, see you soon :D - mes_

He found his way to Xabi’s easily enough and rang the doorbell. He felt a bit nervous, but when the door opened to reveal Xabi, smiling and looking genuinely excited to see him, he calmed down.

“Hey!” Xabi gave him a hug, which Mesut tried to reciprocate - although it was hard with all his stuff. Xabi seemed to realise this and took one of his bags as he ushered him in the door.

He toed his shoes off in the doorway and followed Xabi down the corridor. It opened out to a kitchen, lounge and dining room, and a very pretty woman was cooking something at the stove, the radio blaring away in Spanish.

‘Mamá, Mesut ha llegado.” She hurriedly turned down the radio.

“Hola!”

"This is my mother," Xabi said. She could have been an older sister she looked so young, Mesut thought as she shook his hand and pecked him on the cheek.

"Call me Isabel, it's lovely to meet you, Xabi's said a lot about you!" She said, her accent tinged heavily with Spanish.

Xabi went slightly pink, but Mesut just thought it was lovely that Xabi evidently had a good relationship with his parents. He felt envious - he couldn't imagine talking to his mother about anything remotely personal.

"You can go up to Xabi's room and put your stuff down, and I'll get you some drinks and food!"

Xabi lead the way down the corridor and Mesut marvelled at how big the house was. Christmas decorations adorned the walls, ready for the next few days, and there seemed to be endless rooms until they reached the end of the corridor and turned into a spacious, immaculately clean bedroom. It was so Xabi it hurt, classy, yet cosy and welcoming at the same time. There was a double bed in the centre of the room, and a camp stretcher that looked incredibly out of place in the orderly style of his friend's bedroom. In the corner there was a study space, and this was the only part of the room that was relatively messy, with piles of textbooks and notes. Next to the desk was a sliding door looking out onto the back yard, in which there was a pool, at the present time under cover.

"Just chuck your stuff anywhere," Xabi told him.

When they returned downstairs, there was a plate of sandwiches and drinks on the table. “Dig in,” Isabel told them.

They spent the afternoon talking and playing a bit of FIFA. Xabi gave him a grand tour of the house, and then they had dinner. His father was out on a business trip so it was just Xabi, his mother and Mesut.

It was so much more relaxed at Xabi’s than it was at his house. Even making sure his manners were perfect required less effort than he usually required to please his parents at home. When Xabi turned the light off that night, Mesut lay awake feeling a mixture of happiness and envy, wishing that he’d been brought up like Xabi had been. But most of all, he felt grateful, grateful that he had a friend like Xabi, and that he got to spend Christmas with such a loving family. It made him forget about his own family situation for a while, and that was something he hadn’t realised he’d needed. For the first time in a while, Mesut fell asleep with a smile on his face, and without a worry in his head.

…

Benni’s Christmas was tense. That was the only word for it. Benni still felt uneasy around his mother ever since their talk about homosexuality. He wanted nothing more than to just tell her, but that would cause even more problems.

They had dinner together on the 24th, a rather quiet affair which mainly involved Sam and his mother chatting and Benedikt pushing his food around his plate, and speaking when spoken to. This was followed by presents and then Benni went to bed, smiling more at Mats’ Merry Christmas text than he had all evening.

He went over to Mats’ the day after. His friend had had a very different Christmas it seemed - Mats had a hoard of presents, and seemed more jovial than usual. He presented Benni with a rather messily wrapped gift of his own, and Benni blushed and tried to explain that he hadn’t got Mats anything. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to buy Mats something, he hadn’t thought they were at that stage yet, but evidently Mats did, which in turn was a comfort to Benni.

“It’s honestly nothing,” Mats waved away his apologies. “Seriously. It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to get me anything.”

Benni must have looked forlorn as Mats tilted his head and gave him a kiss.

“Can I open it now?” Benni asked.

“Yeah, just maybe read the card later.”

Benni frowned at him.

“It’s smushy,” Mats laughed, and for the first time in the history of knowing him, Benedikt saw him blush. “Can you just open it and get it over and done with?” Mats laughed again, running a hand through his hair.

Benni did as he said, ripping off the wrapping to find a small framed photo of the two of them which Benni recognised to be from camp. Mats had his arm around Benni’s shoulders and was trying to ruffle his hair while Benni shied away from him, but had a smile on his face.

“This is so cute,” Benni said, looking down at the photo fondly. The card was tucked in with it and Benni put it carefully in his pocked

“Müller made me bloody pay for it,” the footballer grumbled.

“That’s Thomas for you,” Benni chuckled, putting the photo down carefully on Mats’ bed and wrapping his arms around the other boy. “Thank you so much. Sorry for not getting you anything.”

“It’s honestly fine, don’t worry about it,” Mats said, returning the hug and kissing Benni on the cheek.

When he got home, Benni put the frame carefully on his bedside table, then lay down just looking at it and smiling. He suddenly remembered the card. He pulled it from his pocket and started to read.

 _Dearest derisive Benedikt,_ it began, and Benni laughed.

_Merry Christmas! I don’t really know what’s got into me, I’m not usually the one to make cute handmade gifts for people, but here I am. I hope you’ve had a great festive season and holiday - I mean you spent a lot of it with me so you better have had fun - and you have a happy new year, that you’ll be also spending with me. I’m so happy we got past our differences and you decided you could tolerate me and my insufferableness. You’re funny, talented, intelligent and good looking and I really, really, really like you. You mean a lot to me. I hope you like the present and I’m looking forward to spending even more time with you and taking more cute photos next year!_

_From Mats <3_

Below his name was a line of kisses. Benni put the card beneath the photo frame and lay back on his bed. He couldn’t stop smiling.

…

Christmas at the Alonso household was nothing short of incredible. Isabel had got them up at 8, fed them and set them to work on decorating the house. She’d turned on a cd of Spanish Christmas songs, and Xabi seemed to know them all as he hummed along as they strung tinsel and holly branches around the lounge. It must have been a tradition.

Xabi’s father and brother joined them for lunch, his father having returned from his business trip and picking up Mikel from his university on the way. His father shook Mesut’s hand enthusiastically. Xabi looked very similar to both men.

The rest of the relatives started pouring in around late afternoon. Xabi and Mesut were helping Isabel in the kitchen making food, but Xabi dragged him round to meet everyone. Everyone was chatting away in a mixture of Spanish and German, and Mesut was glad he could hold his own with Spanish. When a lady who was probably Xabi’s _abuela_ was introduced she talked in her mother tongue immediately and Mesut just responded in Spanish too.

When Mesut turned back to Xabi, he was looking very proud.

The Christmas dinner that followed had to be one of the best experiences in Mesut’s life. There were nearly 40 people of all generations around two tables, all talking and passing dishes to each other. The food was divine, a blend of the two cultures, and Mesut ate so much he thought he would burst.

Dinner took a good four hours, with four courses and dessert, and as it neared midnight everyone started to put on their coats and shoes.

“Midnight mass,” Xabi explained. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

But Mesut did want to, to experience what Xabi experienced every year. He knew his parents would probably disown him if they ever found out he’d set foot in a Catholic church. It was very different to the Mosque. The church was absolutely beautiful, lit with candles and decorated elaborately, and a huge number of people had turned up for the mass. Mostly Mesut watched the members of Xabi’s family, and just enjoyed the experience.

They headed back to Xabi’s for gift giving. Mesut was squished onto the couch next to Xabi and watched him open his presents. When Xabi had finished opening his family gifts, Mesut handed over his own present.

Before opening it, Xabi hopped up and grabbed a wrapped up box from beneath the tree. “Merry Christmas, Mes,” he grinned.

“Merry Christmas, Xabi,” Mesut grinned back.

Xabi had got him a various assortment of books in Spanish. There was a little note sellotaped to the top one.

_Mes; these are some of my favourite Spanish books, I hope you like them, merry christmas :D_

Mesut felt his heart swell at the gift, and turned to Xabi to thank him but his friend was on the other side of the room excitedly showing his mother the travel diary Mesut had got him.

By 4 in the morning, people were starting to leave, and Mesut and Xabi were helping clean up while Xabi’s parents said goodbye.

“Your family is so nice,” Mesut said later when they were sitting on the couch with hot chocolates in their hands.

“The Spanish wasn’t too quick for you was it? You were doing really well with my _abuela_ she’s got a horrific accent.”  

“No it was fine, she was really lovely. Everyone was.”

“That’s how we do Christmas in the Alonso household.”

“It was amazing.”   Xabi grinned at him and shook his head. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Mesut wished his family did something like Xabi’s. He was so glad he’d come to Xabi’s instead of moping around at home like he would have done had he not. He was always a little bit envious of his friend, but he was ultimately just so happy that Xabi had the family he did, and how supportive and loving they were.

They went to bed, the clock chiming 5 o’clock as Mesut’s head hit the pillow, and his eyes were closed in an instant, letting sleep take him.

…

Erik spent Christmas by himself at home. His parents had left his presents behind, and he got a call from his mother which was nice.

It gave him time to think, and time alone, two things that he’d desperately needed after the stress of school and life. At the same time however, he didn’t want to think about Marco, because it hurt.  
 He watched movies and television, and cried a few times. Sometimes he wished he had gone away with Marco and their families, and other times he relished the space he had. At least Mario wasn’t with Marco.

He was trying with all his might to get over his friend. The more days that passed, the more reassured he was that ending their friendship had been the right decision. It hurt, but it was the right decision. No contact whatsoever with the boy he was in love with was better than having to watch Marco happy with someone else. Friendship would have made him even more upset.

André came round after Christmas and the two boys played FIFA and watched movies. Erik wanted to tell him about Marco, but couldn’t bring himself to, for fear that it would get out. He’d already told one person, and that was one too many in his opinion.

André seemed concerned about something, Erik didn’t know if it was him or not, but his friend did not make any indication that he was worried about Erik.

Toni would text him occasionally, to check up on how he was going presumably.

He’d rather stupidly agreed to going to Bastian’s New Year Party and was now dreading it. Toni seemed adamant that it was going to be fine, but Erik just felt something was going to go wrong.

He wanted to stay as far away from Marco as possible, and this party was not a good idea. It was going to hurt even more, seeing them together, seeing Marco happy as he most likely would be.

Was he doing the same as Erik and thinking over everything? Maybe he was glad Erik had ended their friendship.

Erik tried not to tear up at this thought.

For what felt like the millionth time, he tried to get Marco out of his thoughts.

He failed miserably.

…

Sun was streaming in through the window when Xabi woke. He dragged a hand over his eyes and looked at the clock; 11:35. That was relatively early considering he’d gone to sleep at 5.

He leaned over and saw that Mesut was still asleep.

It had been a good night, Christmas always was. But spending it with Mesut had made it even more special. He couldn’t explain the attachment he felt to the younger boy, it was a mixture of protectiveness, friendship and something else that he could not place his finger on.

The travel journal Mesut had given him sat on his bedside table. Xabi picked it up and flicked through it, fingering the pages. It was rather beautiful and had probably cost Mesut a lot, as it seemed to be made of real leather. It was the perfect gift, and Xabi’s favourite of all he’d received. He hoped with all his might that Mesut liked the books.

He got up, showered, and Mesut was still not awake so he headed to the kitchen for breakfast.

The leftovers were always superb after Christmas.

Only his mother was awake when he entered the kitchen, but his father and later his brother joined them. Mesut finally arrived at nearly 1 o’clock, rubbing his eyes and looking rather bemused. “What time is it?” he asked Xabi, sitting down and taking a piece of cake.

“12:58,” Xabi chuckled, and Mesut nearly choked on his food.

“I’m so sorry!” He said, looking rather uncomfortable, and it made Xabi’s heart ache that he was apologetic for such a tiny, meaningless thing.   
“What for?” Xabi said, smiling. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Xabi once slept till 6 in the evening,” Isabel told him as she set down a hot chocolate on his coaster. “In Spain they’ll all still be sleeping, it’s a huge siesta.”

Mesut looked slightly reassured.

They spent the afternoon watching movies in Xabi’s room. When it got to about 7, and Isabel called them for dinner, Xabi noticed that Mesut had fallen asleep again.

Grinning, and quickly snapping a picture of his friend for safe keeping, Xabi pulled the duvet cover over him, and padded out of the room.

…

Thomas looked sleepy and adorable when Miro picked him up in the early hours of the morning they were flying to Italy. His mother was in the kitchen making coffee when Miro stepped into the household.

“He can’t tiptoe,” she told Miroslav with a smile as he tried to apologise for being the cause of her sleep disruption.

“Why did you book a flight this early?” Thomas mumbled as Miro gave him a hug and quick peck on the lips.

“Last minute flights. Usually me and the boys just drive up.”

Thomas looked a bit guilty for complaining, and Miroslav gave him another kiss. “Come on, let’s go. You’ve got all your stuff?’

“Mhm,” he rubbed his eyes and pointed to the pile near the door. Miro hauled a bag up and Thomas grabbed the other one.

Thomas’ mother hurried over with travel mugs for both of them. “For the airport.” She pecked her son on the cheek and waved away Miroslav’s thank yous. “You two have fun! Text me when you get there, okay Tommy?”

Thomas shrugged away from her when she gave his hair a ruffle. “Will do, Mum. We’re gonna miss our flight.”

“Keep safe!” she told them and waved them out the door.

Thomas grabbed Miroslav’s coat off floor and curled up in the passenger seat. Miroslav chuckled softly as he started the ignition. “Little shit.”

“You’re not using it,” Thomas mumbled, burying his head in the fur hood.

“True,” Miro conceded.

The drive to the airport was about half an hour, and Thomas seemed to fall asleep as Miro had to wake him up when they got there.

As they stood in line at the check-in Thomas looked like he was going to take a nap yet again, even standing up. Miroslav wrapped an arm around him and he buried his head against Miro’s chest. “I’m tired,” he mumbled.

“I can see that, babe,” the older boy laughed.

They checked in then Miro bought them McDonalds hash browns and Thomas proceeded to curl up across the chairs with his head in Miro’s lap. When they finally got on the plane, he was much more awake, whereas Miro just wanted to sleep. They were flying premium economy - it was too late notice for business, and Miroslav just wanted to stretch out and get some rest, but Thomas was now like an excitable child.

Eventually Miroslav got fed up with him and stuffed ear plugs in his ears and a mask over his eyes to last the rest of the flight. A few seconds later he felt his arm being lifted and Thomas’ head fell onto his chest. Miro smiled. It was going to be a good few days.

…

"This is so cool," Thomas said, gazing around in awe as he toed off his shoes in the entranceway of the house. Picture frames lined the walls of the corridor and at the end Thomas caught a glimpse of the sea, sparkling blue, dotted with hundreds of boats and people. As he walked down the corridor he looked at the photographs; he recognised Miroslav's parents, his father looking considerably younger while his mother looked rather the same. Three children were scattered around the various photos, Miro, a boy who simply had to be Miro’s older brother given their resemblance, and a girl who Thomas presumed was his sister. They were both a lot older than he was, in every photo Miroslav was about a head shorter. "You were so cute," Thomas said as they reached the end of the corridor, looking up at the last photo, a very young Miroslav building sandcastles on the beach.

Miro laughed. "Am I not cute now?"

"No, you just got really damn good looking," Thomas replied. He let Miroslav pull him through to the living area. It was spacious and rather modern, particularly compared to the exterior, with an open plan format for the kitchen, the lounge and the dining area. Wall to floor windows bathed the entire room in light, and these opened onto a patio balcony set with a loveseat, two loungers and an outdoor table. Thomas walked to the glass and gazed out at the view.

"It's beautiful," he said, honestly. "It's so beautiful."

Miro took his hand and stepped towards him. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it."

Miro smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips, but Thomas wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him close. He felt Miroslav melt into him, and when their mouths parted the other boy remained pressed against him. Thomas was just that bit taller and he looked down at his boyfriend, smiling. "Thank you so much for bringing me," he said.

The sun was starting to set as they unpacked. Miroslav ordered takeaways while Thomas had a shower, and as night fell they sat out on the balcony, cuddled together in the loveseat, the pizza box on Miro’s lap.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” Thomas asked, reaching for another piece of pizza. To Miro’s annoyance he refused to eat the crusts, and left them in a pile. Miro refused to go near them, and they had a little argument about it, the older boy telling him that the crust was the best bit. Miroslav couldn’t deny it was cute watching Thomas gnaw all the way up to the crust then toss it away, but god damnit the boy infuriated him sometimes.

“I suppose I’ll just have to get used to it,” Miro had laughed, and Thomas had looked up at him grinning.

They both liked it when they made comments about the future with each other. It felt right.

“Probably go out on the yacht, if you want?” Miroslav said now, getting up to put the pizza box full of Thomas’ crusts in the bin.

A text popped up on Miroslav’s phone. “Basti texted you,” Thomas called, stretching out on the loveseat.

“You can read it to me,” Miro called back.

Thomas unlocked it and looked at the text.

“‘We’re having a movie night (without u hahahaha) but poldi fell asleep on my shoulder this isn’t fair.’”

“Did he actually say without you?” Miro had returned, a smile on his face.

“Yes,” Thomas laughed, showing him the text.

Miro sighed and took the phone, settling back down next to Thomas to type a reply.

_don’t let yourself get caught up in it, kay? - miro_

Thomas frowned at him. “Okay, I’m confused…”

“Long story short, Basti has recently worked out that he’s got a crush on Lukas.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

…

Bastian opened Miroslav’s reply and rolled his eyes. He knew not to do that to himself. Lukas was oblivious to his feelings, and it was probably best it stayed that way. But it just wasn’t fair, the heavy feeling of his friend’s head on his shoulder, the slight whistling of his breathing as he slept.

He caught Philipp’s eye across the room. The captain was looking over at them, an unreadable expression on his face. Bastian supposed that he didn’t approve, just like Miro.

Lukas was splayed out across the couch, his shirt riding up, and Bastian’s eyes were now trained on that slice of skin. He snuck a look back at Philipp, who was still watching them.

Absent-mindedly, his hand wandered and pulled Lukas shirt down, making sure his fingers brushed the skin as he did so. Lukas didn’t even stir.

He imagined what it would be like if he was dating Lukas. They could cuddle like this all the time. He would be close to Lukas, could hold him in his arms. He craved it.

Next to Bastian, Mats was paying no attention to the movie. The light of his phone illuminated his face, and Bastian presumed he was texting Benni. Robert and Manu were half cuddled together next to Philipp across the room, Robert stretched out across both boys. On the floor, Xabi lay close to Mesut, close enough that Bastian wondered like he had done countless times whether or not there was something going on there. Sami was asleep next to them, a much more sizeable gap between Mesut and Sami than Mesut and Xabi.

Lukas stirred on Bastian’s shoulder.

Why was everyone in relationships and he wasn’t? Even Sami had his girlfriend, Bastian was just his pathetic self, pining after his best friend. Lukas was forbidden territory, he should know that.

But he craved it.

Carefully, he snapped a selfie of the two of them. Lukas would kill him anyway. Philipp was still watching him. Bastian raised his eyebrows at him across the room and instagramed the photo.

_bastischweinsteiger: movie hangouts with the crew, too much for this lump hahahaha_

He locked his phone and tried to concentrate on the movie, rather than the warmth of Lukas’ head, or the steady sound of his breathing. It was more difficult than it sounded.

…

True to his word, Miro took Thomas out on his yacht - his presumably very expensive motorised yacht - the next day. The beach was absolutely stunning, with holidaymakers and locals all making the most of the weather and the surroundings. When they got out into the ocean, Thomas marvelled at how beautiful everything was, how blue the sea was and how the sun made it sparkle like it was made of millions of individual jewels.

Thomas lounged around and watched Miroslav drive the boat; “All you need is a fancy uniform and you’re a ship captain.”

Miroslav turned around and smirked at him. “Have you got some uniform kink I don’t know about?”

Thomas leapt up off the chair and wrapped his arms around Miroslav’s waist. “You’ll have to find out,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s neck.

They dug into their picnic lunch around 1, then Thomas jumped off the side of the boat for a swim, despite the water being rather chilly. He was being his usual self and mucking around, splashing Miroslav who refused to get in, and pretending there was a shark or that he was drowning - Miroslav fell for it at first and proceeded to freak out (they were in the middle of the ocean, for god’s sake) - until Thomas, who now was at risk of drowning he was laughing so hard, let him know that he was just kidding.

Thomas soon got too cold and climbed back up to dry off. They lounged around some more, basking in the winter Italian sun, knowing they weren’t going to get this for some time in Germany. Even in winter, with the crisp air, the sun made it warm enough to bear.

They returned to the bay, Miroslav docked the yacht and they caught a taxi back to the house. Miroslav made them toasted sandwiches as dinner - if there was one thing Miro didn’t excel at, it was cooking, Thomas had noticed. Then the senior took a shower, leaving Thomas to look through his photos from the day. He came across one of his boyfriend from after their lunch. The picture was rather beautiful; Miro was sitting cross legged on the lounger, reading the book in his lap and holding a bottle of cider in his hand, his sunglasses perched on top of his uncharacteristically messy hair. He was bare chested, but the blue of his shorts went beautifully with the cloudless sky. Thomas posted it.

_thomasiscool: Amalfi coast with my boy <3 #mine #hedoesntknowitookthis #italy_

_miroklose: I hate you_

_thomasiscool: @miroklose whatever babe xoxo_

_bastischweinsteiger: I feel so replaced rn :(((( but you guys are too cute_

_chriskra: I want a relationship like this so bad!!!!! you guys are so adorable :D_

_manuelneuer: no you don't these two are trash @chriskra_

_benwedes: so jealous!!!!!!!_

_thomasiscool: who wouldn’t be :P_

_benwedes: not of dating miro!_

_benwedes: wait that sounded mean_

_benwedes: i meant jealous of your holiday not of dating miro that would be weird although he is very good looking_

_benwedes; should i just shut up now_

_thomasiscool: yes, Benni._

_matsihummels: @benwedes HAHAHA well done_

_matsihummels: @miroklose_

_benwedes: mATS NO_

_miroklose: thanks, @benwedes <3_

Thomas was laughing when Miroslav walked into the room, phone in hand, his hair damp from his shower. “I don’t like that picture,” he announced, falling onto the couch next to his boyfriend.

“I do,” the younger boy showed him his phone, the lock screen set to the picture.

“Actually hate you.”

“You look hot,” Thomas grinned, lifting a leg over Miroslav’s waist so he was sitting in the other boy’s lap. He leaned down and kissed Miro on the lips. “Like you always do.”

Miroslav deepened the kiss, bring his hands up to drag them through Thomas’ hair. “Still hate you,” he whispered as they broke apart, their foreheads still pressed together. Thomas just grinned and kissed him again, harder this time. His hands adventured around Miro’s torso, creeping under the hem of his shirt, surprisingly warm on Miro’s skin.

“Off,” he muttered as they surfaced for air, and Miro obliged, pulling the fresh t-shirt over his head. Thomas’ followed, tossed onto the ground, and their mouths found their way back together. The kiss was messy, urgent, both of them wanting nothing more than the taste of the other one. Their hands were exploring, Miro’s roaming the planes of Thomas’ back, Thomas’ running down Miro’s chest, occasionally fiddling with the waistband of his shorts. Miro broke the kiss and moved to Thomas’ neck and the boy let out a gasp which turned Miro on to no end. His previously loose shorts were getting painfully tight as he felt arousal grow more and more. Thomas’ hands were driving him crazy, dipping under the waistband, circling his abs, those beautiful fingers giving him far too many ideas. This only turned him on even more.

He kissed Thomas on the mouth again, but the younger boy pulled away after a few seconds, a glint in his eye. He knew exactly what he was doing to Miro, and looked so damn pleased about it. Leaning in - and subsequently grinding right on Miro’s crotch, the _bastard_ \- he whispered “Time to repay that favour?”

“I’m going to need another shower,” Miro groaned as Thomas’ tongue flicked out to lick the curve of his ear. The younger boy climbed off Miro’s lap and reached for his boyfriend’s shorts. Miro was almost blushing at how desperately he wanted this, wanted Thomas, and all that he was.

Thomas' hands had his shorts off in seconds and his underwear followed without much further ado.

But instead of merely imitating Miro's advances on him, Thomas ducked his head and took Miroslav in his mouth. Taken by surprise, Miro's hips twitched, bucking into Thomas' mouth but the younger boy took it remarkably well.

"Holy shit, Tom," Miro groaned as the younger boy began to bob his head, looking up at Miro through his eyelashes, his eyes revealing the smile he could not smile. Miro threw out a hand as Thomas took a bit more of him in, fisting it in his hair, pushing the other boy further down onto his dick.

The pants coming from Miro's mouth were like music to Thomas' ears and he took in a bit more, sucking harder and faster and coaxing more beautiful moans.

" _Fuck_ Tom," Miro gasped his head lolling back on the couch, his eyes shut, mouth open.

Thomas was only 16, but he'd given head to his fair share of boys. He knew how to do it, and how to do it well. Miro was already dribbling precome, Thomas could taste it.

"I'm close," Miro told him through the gasps, and this only spurred him on further. He took as much in as he could now, hollowing his cheeks and feeling the head of Miro's cock hitting the back of his throat. He pushed past his gag reflex, his tongue swirling around the dick in his mouth, and with a shout, Miro came.

He'd only swallowed once before, but Thomas enjoyed it. The hot jets of Miro's come were unfamiliar but welcome, and he did his best not to choke as he took what his boyfriend had to offer. When Miro seemed spent Thomas pulled off his dick with an obscene popping noise and kissed Miro straight away, letting his boyfriend taste himself.

"Fuck that was hot," the senior panted when they'd broke apart, his hand wandering down to touch himself. Thomas looked ever so pleased with himself.

Though he did not take another shower - Thomas tried to cajole him into joining him when he eventually took one - Miroslav had to get cleaned up. When Thomas did emerge from the bathroom wet-haired, red-cheeked and wanting cuddles, Miroslav was already in bed, reading a book.    
Thomas just climbed in next to him and laid his head on Miro’s bare chest.

“What are you reading?” he asked, his finger tracing big circles slowly on his boyfriend’s skin.

Miroslav showed him the cover. “It’s for English. It’s not very good.”

Thomas just smiled his beautiful smile and nuzzled his head against Miro’s skin, not saying another word. Miro continued on reading, but was more focusing on Thomas’ fingers dancing over his skin than the words on the page. Eventually his hand stilled, his eyelashes fluttering, tiny butterfly kisses on Miro’s skin. Miroslav knew he was trying not to fall asleep and failing.

“Baby,” Miroslav whispered softly, laughing a little as Thomas raised his head. “Do you want me to turn the light off?”   
“Yes please,” Thomas mumbled. He let out a massive yawn. “I’m tired.”

“I can see that.” The older boy flicked the light off then placed his book on the bedside table. He pressed a kiss to Thomas’ forehead. “Come here, you.”

Thomas shuffled closer to him, now completely on top of him, his head nuzzled beneath Miroslav’s chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Miroslav whispered, his voice muffled by Thomas’ hair. “And I’m so lucky that I get to call you mine.” He bent his head to peck kisses down Thomas’ cheekbone. “This is just the beginning. I want to take you everywhere, I want to do everything I can with you, because you are so special and I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. And I know we’ve only been officially together for about a week and a half but…” He hesitated, pressing another kiss to Thomas’ cheek. “There’s something really, really special about you. And I don’t know what it is but I really like it, and I really like you. And right now, all I want in my life is you, Tom. I don’t care about the rest of it, as long as I get to spend time with you, and have you by my side, then I’m happy.”

“I really like you too,” Thomas mumbled, his eyes still shut but smiling like an idiot.

Miroslav pressed a kiss to that smile. “Goodnight, _kóchanie_.”

“What does that mean?” came Thomas’ muffled reply.

“Sweetie, darling, beautiful, any of those, take your pick.”

“I love it when you speak Polish.” The younger boy let out a huge yawn, making Miroslav chuckle.

“ _Dobranoc_ , _kóchanie_. Goodnight, sweetheart.” He tightened his grip around the other boy and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Thomas smiled. “Goodnight.”

…

Miro got him back for his Instagram post the next morning, posting a selfie of him and Thomas while the younger boy was asleep. Thomas had his head in Miro's lap, arm slung across Miro's waist. Miroslav was grinning and had his book rested carefully on Thomas' head.

_miroklose: it's nearly 11 and I'm hungry but he's still asleep and he looks so cute that I don't want to wake him #hedoesntknowitookthis #gotyoubackbabe_

He got comments almost straight away.

_xabi_alonso: such a cute photo, hope you guys are having fun!!!_

_matshummels: you two are too fucking cute_

_bastischweinsteiger: could have been us miro_

Miroslav smirked at Bastian’s.

_miroklose: you’ll never be my ho @bastischweinsteiger_

_bastischweinsteiger: :’(_

When Thomas moved his head off Miro’s lap in his sleep, the older boy decided to get up. He had a shower, and was getting changed when he heard Thomas stir and looked over to see his boyfriend’s eyes fluttering open.

“Morning,” he grinned.

“Come here,” Thomas mumbled. “Wanna kiss you.”

Miro smirked and climbed back on to the bed, straddling Thomas and kissing him.  
 The younger boy responded with enthusiasm, and Miro felt his hands move around to feel up his ass. He liked Thomas’ confidence, it might have been a different story with them if Thomas had been more innocent, but his boyfriend seemed to be comfortable with anything they did.

They spent most of the morning in bed, cuddling and making out, then they headed out for brunch, Miro determined to treat his boyfriend as much as possible. The place they were going was expensive, and wasn’t usually where Miroslav would go when he came to the house on holiday. But with Thomas, it was out of the question not to take him there. Miroslav had always known he was privileged to have the money and parents that he had. But why not use it to his advantage and show his boyfriend a good time?

…

“Have you seen Thomas’ bloody snapchat story?” Benni growled. He was out for coffee with Toni.

“I saw all the cute instagram pics.”

“They’re at some fancy as restaurant for lunch,” he showed Toni a snap of the menu and the prices, which Thomas had captioned ‘when bae says you can get anything” which changed to a photo of Miroslav holding up his glass (of what was presumably very expensive champagne) to the camera, captioned ‘so lucky to have him <3’

Toni made a face. “They’re so cute though.”

“Thomas gets spoilt far more than he deserves. Where’s my rich boyfriend to take me to Italy just because he felt like it?”

“Is Mats rich?” Toni chuckled.

Benni blushed at the suggestion of him and Mats being together. “Not like Miro.”

“No one’s as rich as Klose.”

“True.”

“Are you and Mats official yet?”

“No.”  “When are you seeing him next?”

“Tonight.”

“God, Benni, act a little excited to see your boy.”

“He’s not my boy.”

“He is so your boy.”

Benni hid his face behind his cup of coffee. “Don’t make me get my hopes up.”

“That boy is so into you.” Toni said adamantly. “So damn into you. You don’t see him looking at you but he does, just the same way that you look at him.”

“Really?” Benni mumbled, trying not to smile.

“Really.”

“Any love in your life Toni?” Benni tried to divert the conversation away from him and Mats.

“Alas, no,” Toni laughed. “But I’m alright with that.”

“Sure you don’t want me to set you up with a nice boy?”

“Pretty certain.”

“Well I can’t help you get a girl, I probably couldn’t even help you get a boy to be honest.”

Toni chuckled. “The single life is good enough for me right now.”

“Amen to that,” said Benni, draining his cup.

“In no way are you single, Benedikt Höwedes.”

“I’m not actually in a relationship, therefore I am single.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Yeah but what am I then, if I’m not single?”

“You’ve got a thing with a boy who is really into you and who is bound to become your boyfriend sooner or later. You’re not single.”

Benni blushed profusely. “I hate you Toni,” he muttered. The other boy just laughed.

…

Thomas and Miro spent their last night on the balcony, watching the sunset and just talking. Thomas was one of the only people Miroslav had met who he could talk to forever and not get bored.

They flew back the next day, and Miroslav dropped him home.

The senior wrapped his arms around Thomas and the younger boy hugged him back. “I’ll see you at Basti’s tomorrow, yeah?” Miroslav murmured into his neck.

“Yep,” Thomas replied.  
 They kissed, their arms staying wrapped around each other until their lips parted.

“Thank you so much for taking me,” Thomas said.

“It was my pleasure.”   They kissed again, then Miroslav backed down the steps, blowing Thomas a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” Thomas replied, waving. He stood at the doorstep until Miroslav had beeped the horn and driven away, then headed inside, a smile on his face.

…

Thomas evidently had no shame in bearing the hickey that blossomed just above his collarbone. In fact, it was almost like he wanted the others to notice it. He got the desired reaction the second he stepped into Toni’s house.

“Nice hickey, Müller,” Toni chuckled, tossing an Xbox controller at him. Thomas caught it and grinned at him with not a hint of embarrassment.

“What dirty things did you and Klose get up to in Italy?” Benni chuckled.

Thomas smirked and fell onto one of the bean bags. “Let’s just say that the hickey isn’t the only mark I’ve got.”

“Jesus, if you slept with him I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye,” Mesut groaned.

“We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you want to know,” Thomas replied, lazily scrolling through the FIFA team options.

Toni was disappointed whereas Mesut let out a sigh of relief. Thomas rolled his eyes and turned to Benni. “Any progress with Mats?”

Benni went a bit pink and smiled. “We went on a few dates. He’s… It’s kinda surreal.”  “I feel you mate.”   “Surreal but good.”

Toni rolled his eyes. “You two are pathetic.”

“Don’t hate just because you’re single.”

“We’re just fine with being single,” Mesut said.

“Are you sure about that?” Thomas waggled his eyebrows at him.

“Uh… yes?” The cellist frowned at him.   
“You and Xabi would be cute. If you swung that way. Just saying.”

Mesut just gave him a look, not granting him a reply.

“I must admit it’s a bit weird that a few months ago we all hated the football group, and now we’re going to Bastian Schweinsteiger’s New Years party.” Toni said.

“The infamous Schweinsteiger New Years,” Benni chuckled.

“It’s weirder that two of us are going to be making out with people from the football group in the next hour or so.”

Benni blushed, while Thomas just grinned.

“What I want to know is what last year’s Benni would have thought of this year’s Benni. I mean, dating your worst enemy…”

“Mats was not my worst enemy,” Benni said hotly. “And we’re not dating!’

“Close to it,” Thomas laughed.

“You’re going on dates, are you not?” Mesut pointed out. “That constitutes ‘dating.’”

“But we’re not… together.”

“But you want to be.”

Benni went crimson. The other boys fell about laughing.

“Benni and Mats sitting in a tree - ” Mesut sang.

“F-U-C-K-I-N-G!”

“Shut up!” Benni whined, trying to hit Thomas but the other boy scrambled out of reach.

Toni took advantage of Thomas’ lapse in concentration and scored a goal on the Xbox.

“Fuck,” Thomas said, as Toni celebrated. “I can’t multitask. I quit.”

“We should really get ready anyway,” Mesut said.

“We’ve got like an hour!” Toni protested.

“Exactly.”

In less than five minutes, Toni was ready. “You’re like teenage girls,” he smirked. He was sitting on the bed while Thomas and Benni were both doing their hair in the mirror, and Mesut was choosing which shirt to wear.

“We’re just living up to the stereotype,” Thomas laughed.

Mesut was now ready and sat on the bed next to Toni. “And some people like to look like they’ve actually put a bit of effort in, Toni.”

Thomas snorted.

“I put effort in,” Toni protested.

“Your shirt’s got like 200 creases in it,” Benni told him without turning around.

“Who even irons things these days?”

“Most people,” Benni and Mesut said together.

“Well I don’t have any significant other to impress so why should I bother?”

All three of the other boys turned to look at him.

“We’re going to Bastian Schweinsteiger’s New Years party, Toni. You’re supposed to look good.”

“I do look good.”

“Could’ve ironed your shirt, at the very least,” Benni muttered.

Toni threw a cushion at him.

“My hair!”

…

_hey you, what time are you getting here? x - miro <3_

Miro tossed his phone on the couch in front of him and stretched like a cat. Bastian was crouched next to the sound system - which was connected to probably the biggest speakers Miroslav had ever seen in his 18 years - making a playlist.

“You know I’m counting on you having New Year’s parties every year, right?” Miro told him. “Like I want to be 70 and still coming to these things, they get better every year.”

Bastian chuckled. “By the time we’re 70 all we’ll be able to do is sit around drinking wine and being sad old farts.”

“Please never let that happen,” Miroslav groaned, reaching for his phone. Thomas had replied.

_leaving soonish, benni’s redoing his hair hahahahaha xx - tommy <3_

“Tom will be here soon.”

 “Okay I think we’re all set.”

Bastian headed through to the kitchen and Miroslav followed. The younger boy swung open the fridge door, revealing boxes and boxes of alcohol. “Beer?”

Miroslav nodded and Bastian retrieved two bottles, cracked them open and they both took a drink and grinned. It was going to be a good night.

…

Mesut had no idea how Bastian knew so many people. The house was huge, but it seemed to be packed to the brim with teenagers. All the furniture had been moved from the rooms - Mesut wondered where it had been put - and the lounge served as a dancefloor. The bass was cranked right up and Mesut could feel the music in his bones it was so loud.

He made his way through to the kitchen and found Xabi and Per walking in from the entranceway carrying boxes of pizza. Xabi grinned at him. “Get some before it’s gone.”

Mesut did so, seating himself on one of the stools at the bench across from Xabi and Per. Xabi leant his elbows on the surface as he grabbed a slice of pizza, and Mesut found himself watching him as he ate it.

Thomas’ comment from earlier resonated in his mind. You and Xabi would be cute. Mesut shook his head slightly. No. How many drinks had he had? It was the alcohol playing with his brain. Xabi was his friend. One of his best friends. The attachment to him was strictly platonic.

The few days he’d spent with Xabi had showed him how much Xabi meant to him, but as what? As a friend, surely.

There was no way he could have a crush on Xabi. Sure, he was a good looking guy, objectively speaking, but Mesut was… Mesut didn’t know what he was.

He shook his head and tore his eyes away from his friend. It was the alcohol, surely.

Vowing rather unrealistically never to drink again, Mesut headed back onto the dancefloor.

…

Thomas was dancing when he felt a pair of arms slide around his waist.

“Seeing you in public with my hickeys on your neck is a huge turn on,” Miroslav’s voice sounded in his ear. He grinned and leant his head back on Miro’s shoulder, as his boyfriend swayed them from side to side.

Miroslav kissed his exposed neck, his mouth fluttering over the marks, gentle yet dominant, reminding anyone looking that Thomas was his.

When the senior finally spun him around he treated Thomas with another kiss. “Not too tired?”

“Nope!”

“You look hot.”

“So do you, babe.”

Miroslav kissed him again, and Thomas thought he heard a few wolf whistles - probably Bastian - as he kissed back.

…

It was one of the best nights of the year, Bastian always knew how to throw a good party. People were extremely drunk, the music was loud enough to be heard several streets away and everyone was having a good time. It truly was the best way to celebrate the end of a year and the beginning of a new one.

…

A minute to the New Year, and Marco finally found Mario, the other boy hurriedly making his way towards him and latching his arms around Marco’s waist. “I thought I wasn’t going to find you,” Mario said.

“You ran off,” Marco laughed.

“Sorry,” Mario said sheepishly.

“Where’d you go, anyway?”

“Had to talk to Chris.”

Marco frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah it’s fine - I’m fine - I um - I - do you want to be my boyfriend?” The younger boy looked at the ground as soon as he’d finished speaking, and Marco’s heart melted at how nervous he was. It was cute, Mario was cute, and Marco was so _damn_ lucky, he thought.

“You didn’t have to be so nervous,” he chuckled. “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Mario looked up, surprise in his eyes that Marco was astonished to see - as if he would have said no - and smiled. Marco kissed him and he kissed back.

“Bit early for New Years,” Mario said when they broke apart. The ten second countdown was about to start according to Per, who stood on a table, yelling the number of seconds out.

“I don’t care,” Marco said and kissed him again.

…

“10… 9…” Per began to shout.

Thomas dragged Miro away from the group of people they were standing with and into the throng of bodies yelling eagerly with Per as he began the countdown.

“Best person to bring in the new year with,” Thomas grinned, and Miro had kissed just as he finished the sentence. They heard the countdown and the cheers, but they were wrapped up with each other, they were all that mattered in that moment.

…

“6… 5… 4…”

Mesut was in a huge circle with Xabi, Sami, Robert, Manu, Toni, and a few others he didn’t recognise, chanting along with Per. Xabi had his arm around Mesut’s shoulders and Mesut found himself watching the older boy as they counted down. Xabi was smiling, laughing, looking so genuinely happy that it made Mesut happy too. He realised then that he cared a lot about the other boy.

When the countdown reached zero and everyone cheered and people started kissing, Xabi gave Mesut a big hug, yelling “happy new year!” in his ear.

As they drew away Mesut felt Xabi’s lips brush against his cheek, and felt a funny feeling in his stomach.

Maybe he’d imagined it, he thought as he watched Xabi give the rest of the surrounding people hugs. Again, he reasoned, it must be the drinks.

How wrong he was.

…

“2… 1… Happy new year!” The party went crazy, with most people kissing the nearest possible person. Thomas had climbed Miroslav like a tree, and now had his legs around Miro’s waist, kissing his boyfriend like it was the last kiss he would ever get. Robert had Manuel up against a wall. Mats remembered when he’d been the one kissing the Pole, all in order to make Benni notice him. If only he’d known where he would be in just a few weeks.

Benni had his arms around Mats’ waist and was looking up at him almost expectantly.

“Happy New Year, Benni,” Mats grinned and kissed him on the mouth.

It was soft, yet deep at the same time. It was full of passion, both of them wanted this just as much as the other, wanted to feel the other, taste them, and neither wanted it to stop. Mats had his hand in Benni’s hair, the other on the back of his neck, spurring him on. It was more intimate than any other kiss they’d had, more passionate, more romantic, just _more_.

As they broke apart, a wave of spontaneity hit Mats and he asked; “Benni?”

The other boy looked beautiful, his lips red, his eyes wide, his hair messy from where Mats had run his hand through it. “Yeah?”

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

Benni stopped bopping to the music - Mats loved the way he danced - and stared at him, his mouth open.

It wasn’t quite the desired effect, but it was cute all the same. Mats had to repeat the question before he got a solid answer out of Benni.

The pianist was nodding, still looking rather shocked. Mats just smiled and kissed him, kissed his _boyfriend_ , again.

…

Bastian wasn’t usually an emotional drunk, but after the clock had struck midnight and he’d watched all the couples - and even some non couples, namely a very drunk Per and a rather taken aback but willing Philipp - kiss, he’d felt the sudden urge to puke his guts out. Lukas had been flirting with a girl for most of the night, one of Per’s girlfriend’s friends, Bastian did not care for her. At least they hadn’t kissed.

The feeling had gone away, but he’d turned instead to drinking even more, and hence at around 2 in the morning, found himself crumpled in a heap on the floor of the upstairs bathroom, having just vomited into the toilet. Philipp was crouched beside him, rubbing his back, evidently concerned for him.

“What the fuck am I doing, Phil?” Bastian asked. Tears were prickling at his eyes, he couldn’t get Lukas out of his head.

“Come on, up we get,” Philipp ushered him into a sitting position, and gave him a towel to wipe his mouth.

Bastian did as he was told, feeling pathetic as a tear dribbled down his cheek.

“Hey, don’t cry,” the captain said, sitting down next to him and wrapping an arm around him - a kind gesture that was made kinder by the fact that Bastian probably stank of vomit. “What’s up, Schweini?”

“Fucking Lukas fucking Podolski,” he slurred. “That’s what’s up.” He put his head in his hands. “I’m fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic.”

“I am.”    
“You’re not. You have every reason to like him, and just because he might not be gay, you’re in no way pathetic, Basti.”

“I hate myself. I hate him. I hate that stupid girl he’s flirting with.” Philipp rubbed his shoulder. More tears trickled down his cheeks. “Why the fuck am I even crying?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to have a good cry,” Philipp told him.

“Not when it’s because you’ve got a stupid, _stupid_ crush on your best friend,” Bastian said defeatedly.

He remembered last New Year’s, and how much better it had been. He’d been dating his now ex-girlfriend, and after a night of partying he’d snuck her into his bedroom and lost his virginity to her. Lukas hadn’t been an issue back then.

The door suddenly swung open and Bastian couldn’t believe his luck.

Lukas and the girl he’d been chatting up all night were in the doorway. He was grinning but when he saw Bastian and Philipp on the floor it faltered and he suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. That was when Bastian noticed she was hanging onto his hand.

“Oh… uh… we were just…” Lukas ran his free hand through his hair and snuck a look at the girl. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

And with that they disappeared back into the corridor, shutting the door behind them.

“He’s so fucking straight,” Bastian wailed. “And I’m fucking pathetic.”

Philipp didn’t reply, maybe because he didn’t know what to say, or because he was agreeing with Bastian. The younger boy just put his head in his hands and cried some more.

…

“Mario just asked me to be his boyfriend!” Marco told Toni excitedly over the head-poundingly loud music.

The reaction he got was not the one he expected. Toni’s face fell dramatically and a look of horror formed. He stopped bopping to the music and stared at Marco then threw out a hand to grip his shoulder.

“What about Erik!” He exclaimed. “Erik! Marco, Erik!”

He was so drunk that Marco had no idea what he was on about. “What about Erik?” he asked.

“Erik! Erik who’s in love with you! Why don’t you love him Marco?”

Marco felt all the blood rush from his head. He felt faint. “E-erik?” He stammered. There was no way that Toni was lying, not when he was this drunk.

Toni stumbled, waving his arms around in the air. “He’s had a crush on you for ages,” he strung out the ‘a’ sound and almost fell over. “Why don’t you love him Marco?’’

Marco just stared at him. He felt sick. Erik couldn’t have a crush on him.

“Why don’t you love Erik Marco?” Toni said for the third time.

“No,” Marco choked. “No, he can’t be in l-love with me. No.”

“But he is! And he’s so sad because of you and Mario and how you don’t love him and how he loves you and he - ” the rest of Toni’s sentence was lost in a babble of drunken slurring.

Marco couldn’t move.

Toni clapped his hands together. “Speak of the devil!”    
Shit.

Erik had appeared behind Toni, a small smile of amusement on his face at Toni’s drunkenness. It disappeared very quickly when Toni spoke again. “Erik, Marco and Mario got together!” He waved his arms around again as if to prove his point. “And I told Marco what about you because - ” He suddenly slapped his hands over his mouth and looked horrified.

Erik, on the other hand, looked as white as a ghost.

“Shit,” Toni slurred. “I wasn’t supposed to - I wasn’t supposed to tell you - Marco - I wasn’t - forget I said anything - ”

“Mesut,” Erik seemed to pluck his friend out of the crowd of people. “Toni needs to throw up. Take care of him.”

The other boy did as he said, almost sensing the tension between Marco and Erik. When they’d been swallowed up by the crowd, Erik turned to him. “What did he say?” He asked, almost panicked, insistent, his eyes wide with something that looked like fear.

“Everything,” Marco said numbly. “He told me… everything.” He hoped Erik would deny it, tell him Toni was out of his mind

Erik just stood there and hung his head.

Then Marco got angry. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol, or just the pure shock and emotion of the situation. “You ruined everything.” He said quietly. And then he yelled; “You fucking ruined it!”

He gave Erik a push. The other boy did not retaliate.

“You can’t like me! You can’t, why do you like me, it’s not fair, you fucking ruined everything!”

He started battering Erik, arms flailing desperately, trying to take out his anger on the younger boy.

“Fuck you!” Marco yelled. “Why couldn’t you j-just leave us alone! Why do you always make things so fucking difficult!”

Then Thomas was pulling him off the other boy. “Marco, shit, dude, calm down, what’s the problem?’

“Ask him! Ask him why he has a fucking crush on me!” Marco screamed, full blown crying now, and not really sure why. He pointed an accusatory finger at Erik. “He ruined everything.”

It was loud enough for half the party to hear, even with the music going. Heads turned, and Erik blushed crimson. Marco was trying to break free of Thomas’ hold on him, but couldn’t. André and Miro hovered next to Erik, not sure what to do.  
 Time seemed to stop as the two boys looked at each other, Erik holding Marco’s angry gaze for just a handful of seconds before turning around and disappearing into the crowd. Marco slumped to the floor, pulling Thomas down with him. Miro made to go after Erik, but André threw out an arm. “Just leave him. I’ll go see him later.”

Miroslav nodded. Everyone else around them seemed to have realised the drama was over and had carried on partying. André looked over at Marco, who was being pulled to his feet by Mario. His heart ached for Erik, but he also felt betrayed - Erik clearly hadn’t trusted him with his secrets, but he supposed that was up to Erik. He just hoped that the other boy was okay.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tries to run away* 
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> It's been a while.
> 
> A very long while.
> 
> I've been so damn busy, this year is so intense with school work and trying to figure out what to do with my life so here's a quick update on what's happening in my life (even though I know most of you probably don't care): 
> 
> My school ball (prom) was a few weeks ago, it was one of the best nights of my life and literally these last few months have been building up to it and now I don't know what to do with my life. School is bloody hard, but I’m coping. Just. However I actually have to decide what to do with my life soon, and that’s bloody scary. So: please try not to hate me for being so late with this update, I hope the quality made up for it!!! (please tell me what you thought I feel so so bad)
> 
> I’ll try my very best to update in a month’s time, but again please don’t hate me if I don’t! 
> 
> As usual, kudos, subscriptions and comments are everything I live for, PLEASE let me know what you think so I can improve my writing and make this story as enjoyable as possible for all of you!
> 
> (Are the chapters too long? Would you prefer shorter ones? Please let me know if you can’t be bothered reading stuff like this 12k mammoth of a chapter!! I hope the length made up for the wait though…)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone still sticking around to read my silly little story, I’m so sorry for not sticking to my word with the 1 chapter a month but thank you so much if you’re still here reading this! <3
> 
> y’all are my faves
> 
> ~ charlotte


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are a little different - and a lot more stressful - as the boys return to school.

Coming back to school was difficult. Not only because the boys had got so accustomed to the holidays, nor that the music boys had competitions through the second week, nor that they all had exams the following, but because what had happened during the holiday break had changed a lot of things.

Erik no longer sat with the music boys, and was in fact nowhere to be found at lunchtimes. André, beyond worried for the boy, had searched the library, classrooms, the music department, everywhere he knew Erik frequented, but to no avail. The younger boy was doing an extremely good job of staying hidden.

Marco acted like nothing had happened, but he was clearly troubled. Only with Mario did he seem at ease. Mario and Christoph sat with them permanently now, and it didn’t bother any of the others.

Things were a bit awkward between Toni and Marco. Toni could not shake himself of the guilt he felt for letting Erik’s secret slip. He’d promised, and he’d broken that promise, and now Erik was gone from their group of friends and it was pretty much his fault. He’d talked to André about the younger boy. Numerous messages had not received replies on Facebook and over text. Marco just seemed rather irritated Toni had lied to him.

Though it was nothing new, Benni talked a lot about Mats. There were times, however, when Benni would simply marvel at the fact that they were official, it had happened so fast, and though he was extremely happy to say he was dating Mats Hummels, it was surreal, and it took some getting used to. Already he’d received a few jealous students (mostly from the year below) approach him in regards to his relationship.

Said relationship had been going nothing short of perfectly thus far. Every time they hung out, Benni found himself liking Mats even more if that was possible. With Benni, Mats was nothing like the cocky footballer he so made out to be. There was still a sense of cockiness, but Benni liked it. He liked that Mats was confident, because it made it a lot easier for him.

Then there was the physical side of things, and Benni would be lying if he said that he didn’t tremendously enjoy the way Mats would hold him and kiss him. They hadn’t got any further than simply kissing yet, but Benni wasn’t sure if he wanted that just yet. He was rather surprised that Mats hadn’t pushed it, but the fact he hadn’t was reassuring. He wanted it, just not yet.

Everyone seemed thankful they were actually getting somewhere, but it still made Mesut want to fall asleep when Benedikt started talking about how wonderful his boyfriend was.

Mesut himself was doing well. He felt on top of his stress, the imminent exams were not a problem.

Yet.

He and Xabi studied together a lot, helping each other with what they could; this was mainly Xabi helping Mesut but it was undeniably nice just to have someone there to help him study, to test him on definitions, to correct his pronunciation.

Across the cafeteria, things were obviously different with the football boys too. Xabi hardly sat with them anymore, and instead could be found in the library nearly every lunchtime in the weeks leading up to the exams. The Spaniard wanted the best grades he could, as he’d found a scholarship he wanted to apply for.

Miroslav spent a lot of time looking over at Thomas. This was during the lunchtimes that they didn’t spend together. Philipp and Per learnt not to talk to him in these moments as Miroslav would - sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, - completely ignore whatever they were trying to say.

Philipp was worried about Bastian. Ever since New Year, he had seemed reserved, and numerous times Philipp would catch him staring at Lukas. He didn’t know how Lukas had not realised yet that something was up, let alone that Bastian had the biggest crush on him. Philipp supposed it was better that way, but still, it made things difficult as Lukas clearly didn’t see the possibility of Bastian ever liking him in a romantic way.

Per was just sick and tired of the mess of love and lust that was the student body at Weisburg.

The first week passed quickly, and by Friday they were back into the swing of things. The first game of the term kicked off after school and most of the students were down at the fields to support.

“If it gets any colder I’m not coming to these things,” Benni told Marco, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. He could see Mats warming up, laughing with Thomas about something. His boyfriend never failed to look good in the football kit - while it hung off Thomas’ spindly limbs, it hugged Mats perfectly.

“Mats wouldn’t be very happy about that would he?” Marco chuckled, nudging Benni. The pianist rolled his eyes.

“I could be doing far more profitable things. Like practising for next week. Or doing homework. Instead I’m out in the cold watching a bunch of teenaged boys chase after a ball.”

“But you love it.”

“Fuck off.”

“You do.”

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Maybe a lot.”

The teams were starting to huddle ready for kick off and Benni turned his eyes back to the field, ignoring Marco’s chuckles.

It was a good game. Benni had been to quite a few that year as a result of his friendship with Mats, but now they were a couple it was a little different. Mats scored the winning goal and ran over to the stands to give Benni a kiss over the barrier. He felt his cheeks flush as the crowd roared - this was a little too centre of attention for his liking.

He and Marco stuck around after the crowd began to clear, waiting for the team to emerge from the locker rooms. Benni had told his mother he was at Marco’s for a study session; he had to be back home in about twenty minutes which was easily achievable. He had become more and more relaxed about lying to his mother - mainly because it was the only way he was able to spend any time with his boyfriend - but still he was nervous he would be discovered, that she would find out all the secrets he’d been hiding, all the lies he’d told.

The boys finally emerged, looking tired but happy. They’d had a stellar season thus far, top of the table in their league and advancing to the latter stages of the cup round. Benni felt proud of them, of his friends and his boyfriend.

He laughed to himself, remembering the conflict they’d all had when Thomas and Mesut had first trialled. Now look where they all were. As Mats jogged over to him and gave him another kiss, Benni couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. A lovesick idiot.

…

(11:48pm)  
_To: Erik Durm_  
_Toni Kroos: please come sit with us erik_

_Toni Kroos: we’re all worried about you_

_Toni Kroos: we miss you_

_Toni Kroos: i’m so sorry for what i did_

_Toni Kroos: i just want to know you’re okay_  
_(Seen by Erik Durm, 3:02am)_

_…_

Their conductor had scheduled a final rehearsal before the week of the boys’ competition. At 7 o'clock on Monday morning, they all trooped in with their instruments and tired expressions.

“Who you texting?” Toni chuckled at Benni. He was sitting perched on one of the double bass stools, his coffee in his hands and relishing the opportunity to make Benni blush.

“Mats,” Benni mumbled.

“How’s it going with him?”

“Good. Really good. It’s really nice.”

“Didn’t ever actually think you’d get anywhere with him, if I’m totally honest.”

“Because of him or because of me?”

 “Both,” Toni smirked, and Benni hit him. “Hey! Careful, I’m holding a hot beverage.”

“Fuck you and your hot beverage,” Benni rolled his eyes.

“No seriously, I’m happy for you, man.”

“Thanks, Toni.”

He returned to his phone, and Toni just laughed. Benni seemed lost to the world now as he tapped away at his phone, occasionally smiling and then blushing because of it.

Toni instead turned his gaze to Erik. The other boy was on the other side of the room, as far as he could be away from his friends. He had his back to Toni, talking to his desk partner. Again, Erik hadn’t replied to any of his efforts to apologise. He felt tremendously guilty for what had happened. Erik wasn’t the same.

Mr Robinson called for the rehearsal to start, and Toni snuck another look at Erik as he took his seat and opened his music. The boy was staring into space, his eyes empty and Toni felt another pang of guilt.

It was a good rehearsal. At the end they were given the usual pre competition pep talk, and they left in high spirits. Benni went off to find Mats, Mesut to study, and Marco to Mario, and so Toni was left by himself. There was still time before his first class of the day so he made his way to the cafeteria and found Thomas and Miroslav in a corner, engaged in the usual lovey-dovey hand holding across the table bullshit that the couple so liked to do. At least they weren’t making out. It made Toni want to puke, although he had to admit he was happy that Thomas had found someone like Miro who actually put up with him.

Thomas somehow caught sight of him and waved him over. Not wanting to third wheel, Toni shook his head, but Thomas insisted and so he obliged. Miroslav raised a hand in greeting and gave him a smile.

“How was your rehearsal?” Thomas asked.

“Good. We’re ready, I think.”

“That’s good.”

“Erik’s still not the same.”

“Shit.”

“Has he sat with you at all since the start of term?” Miro asked.

Both Toni and Thomas shook their heads.

“I messaged him last night again and he just doesn’t reply.”

“Maybe give it a week or so and he’ll come round,” Miroslav suggested. “It’ll sort itself out.”

 Thomas stared off into space, evidently thinking hard, while Toni just shrugged. He sure hoped it would.

…

“Hey, you,” Mats plopped into the chair next to Benni at the music boys’ lunch table and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thomas, Mesut,” he nodded to the two boys. “Benni’s other friends.”

Benni gave him a withering look, while Marco and the others just laughed.

Mats continued unperturbed. “Me and the boys were just wondering; how does one come by tickets to this music competition of yours?”

“Well the competition is during the school day so you can’t really come to that, but the gala night is open to the public so you could come to that if you want?”

“Benedikt, baby, I have no idea what a gala night is, that’s mainly why we’re coming to this - because we feel far too uneducated in what you’re all so talented at.”

“Gala is the big showcase of all the best groups,” Benni explained.

 “And you’ll definitely be in that?”

“What are you trying to say, Hummels,” Mesut chuckled.

“Yes, we should be in that.”

“When is it?” 

“Friday night. Starts at 7 I think.”

“Okay we’ll come after the game.”

“It’s a formal event, Mats, you can’t turn up in your football gear.”

 “I know, you idiot, you think I’d turn up to your music thing in my stinky kit? Who do you think I am?”

Benni laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past you to be honest.” He kissed Mats on the cheek. Mesut led the cooing.

“Harsh,” Mats laughed. “Seriously, we’re keen for this. Me, Miro, Xabi, a few of the others. We want to be there.”

“I’m finally going to have someone to sit with!” Thomas crowed. “I can sort the tickets out. Just let me know how many.”

“That would be great, Tommy-boy.”

“I told you not to - ”

“Walking home?” Mats cut Thomas off, directing his attention back to Benni as he stood up.

“Sure,” his boyfriend smiled.

“I’ll meet you at your locker.”

“Okay.”

“See you later babe.” Mats gave him a cheeky kiss on the lips. “Have a good afternoon.” And with that he returned to his own group.

“Still can’t believe you two are actually a thing,” Toni shook his head.

Benni laughed, watching fondly as his boyfriend took his seat, beckoned Miro and Xabi towards him and began talking earnestly. “Neither can I, sometimes.”

…

Marco and Mario were at Marco’s house that afternoon. They’d just finished watching a movie, and though Mario’s arm had been round him the whole time, and they’d shared a few kisses and smiles at their wandering hands, Marco couldn’t stop thinking about Erik.

His boyfriend seemed to notice this as he reached for the remote and muted the end credits, then retracted his arm from around Marco. “What’s on your mind?” He asked, looking adorably concerned. “You’ve been distant all day.”

Marco sighed. “I can’t stop think about what happened at New Years.” He couldn’t even say Erik’s name.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“You didn’t lead him on, you didn’t give him any ideas, he just had a crush on you and you happened to be drunk when you found out, and it was just after I asked you out. The circumstances weren’t ideal, but it’s not your fault, okay?”

“I don’t get why he didn’t just tell me.”

“What would you have done if he’d told you earlier? Like if he’d told you before you met me?”

“I don’t know. He’s my - he was my best friend.”

“Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Well… yeah. You’d have to be blind not to see that.”

“Would you have dated him?”

“No,” Marco said, with not quite absolute conviction. If Mario was hurt it didn’t show.

“Well then it’s definitely not your fault, and you couldn’t have done anything about it.”

“I haven’t seen him since New Years.”

“That’s not your fault either.”

“He’s avoiding all of us.”

“I don’t have much to do with him in class. Do you want me to do anything? To talk to him or something?”

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay. I have no idea what to do about it myself.” Marco ran a hand through his hair. “He just… he fucked up everything when it was going so perfectly, you know?”

“He didn’t fuck it up. I get to call you my boyfriend and we’ve got each other, okay?”

“Okay,” Marco said, looking up at Mario.

The younger boy leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Erik will come round. Don’t worry yourself about it.”

Marco nodded, but he doubted his relationship with Erik would ever be the same again.

…

Benni and Mats walked into the library to find Thomas with his head in Miro’s lap, his feet stretched out over a line of library chairs, while Mesut and Xabi sat across from them, their heads bent over various textbooks. Benni hadn’t been able to shake Mats from coming along to study - although he doubted his boyfriend would even open his books.

“Nice little double date you’ve got going on here,” Mats smirked, sliding in to the chair next to Miro. Benni took the seat opposite, and got out his laptop.

“Did you not learn from last time?” He hissed at Mats. “Keep your voice down or you’ll be banned or something.”

Mats shrugged. “No loss.”

“If you’re not going to study, why are you even here?” Miro said exasperatedly.

“Thomas isn’t studying,” Mats replied pointedly.

“No, but Thomas is being quiet, for once in his life,” Miro chuckled, smiling down at his boyfriend.

Thomas poked his tongue out.

“Why are you here, Hummels?” Xabi asked.

“Spending time with my friends.”

“We’re studying. You don’t study. Or at least not for midyears.”

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Gotta impress my nerdy boyfriend.” Mats smirked at Benni, who didn’t look impressed.

“Why do you put up with him?” Xabi asked Benni.

“You’ve known him longer than I have,” Benni chuckled.

“I’m right here you know,” Mats said indignantly.

“If you’re going to sit here, then shut the fuck up.” Mesut told him plainly. There was a loud snort from Thomas and Xabi had to cover his own laughter. Miroslav just smiled.

“The man has spoken, Mats.”

The defender poked his tongue out. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

It was barely five minutes before Mats spoke again. “Can we go get food?”

Under the table, Benni kicked him.

“Piss off, Mats,” Miro said.

“I’ll go get food with you,” Thomas said, sitting up. He pressed a quick kiss to Miro’s cheek. “Text me later, okay?”

“Okay baby.”

“You guys are gross.” Xabi sighed.

“Guys!” Mesut said. “Please, shut the fuck up!”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Thomas laughed, dragging Mats out of the room.

…

The music boys were all out of school for the next two days at the competition, and returned on Friday, they seemed reasonably confident in their performance.

After their game - which they won from a spectacular Xabi Alonso free kick -Thomas, Miro, Xabi, Mats, Mario and Christoph showered and changed into sensible clothes. The gala concert started at 7, so they got dinner, then headed to the auditorium.

“I’m presuming none of you have ever been to anything like this?” Thomas asked the row of boys. They all shook their heads. “Well it’s a bit different to most other things. You’ve got to stay quiet. Try hold your coughs in. Lick the roof of your mouth if you feel a sneeze coming on. Clap when I clap. No whooping. And make sure your phones are turned off. And don’t eat or drink anything.”

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Mats smirked and Miroslav cuffed him over the ear playfully.

“Seriously, Hummels,” Thomas said. “This is the most important part of the year for them.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, and Miroslav looked at him fondly. “It’s hilarious when you get annoyed.”

“Yes, it’s _utterly_ hilarious,” Thomas glared at him.

“You get all pouty and sarcastic. I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Well now you know how we feel most of the time when it comes to you,” Miroslav chuckled, and caught Thomas’ hand before he could hit him. “Just teasing you.” He pressed a kiss to Thomas’ cheek.

The lights began to dim, indicating the performances were about to start.

There were five orchestra groups that had made it to the gala concert, and Weisburg were the fourth to perform. Thomas had to physically slap his hand over Mats’ mouth to stop him whooping.

Thomas couldn’t help laugh to himself as the footballers watched his friends perform. Mats looked more and more astounded as the performance went on. Xabi had a huge smile on his face and was evidently enjoying himself immensely. Miro looked impressed, as did Mario and Christoph. And the reactions were exactly what the boys deserved. The orchestra was incredibly good, and Thomas would be surprised if they didn’t win the coveted Most Outstanding award.

As the conductor finished the piece with a flourish, and the auditorium broke into applause, Thomas heard Mats mutter ‘Holy shit’ and break into his own rapturous applause. He couldn’t help but grin and clap along.

The remaining concert was tense. Thomas was nervous for his friends, and when the announcer stepped up to do the awards, he felt his heart pounding. He could see where Weisburg were seated, and spotted Benni gripping Mesut’s shirt, his head against the other boy’s shoulder, while Marco and Toni were talking in urgent undertones.

The Bronze awards were announced, followed by the Silver, and then the Gold, and Weisburg gained a gold, which was no surprise. Then it was time for the Most Outstanding.

“While the calibre of performance this year was the best it’s been in the history of this competition, and every single group has played outstandingly, there is of course one more award to give. The Most Outstanding.”

“Fuck, shit, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, motherfucker, holy fuck, shit,” Thomas was babbling under his breath, gripping Miro’s hand. If he was this nervous, he hated to think what his friends were feeling.

“And this year, the Most Outstanding Performance Award goes to…”

“Just fucking tell us!” Thomas whispered.

“Weisburg Symphony Orchestra!”  Down on the ground floor, the boys went mental. Thomas himself jumped to his feet and applauded and didn’t even bother to stop Mats whooping. Marco and Benni lead the way onto the stage, and were awarded a sizeable plaque and a cup which they raised into the air together.

As they celebrated on the stage, the announcer told the audience that the concert was over, and people started to make their way out of the auditorium.

Thomas and the other boys waited for the crowds to clear, then headed into the foyer to wait with the families and friends. The groups started coming out one by one, and slowly the congregation depleted. Soon it was just the Weisburg boys they were waiting for. They finally came out, their conductor holding the plaque with their certificate and the trophy in his arms. The boys all looked ecstatic, and they greeted their friends and family with delight.

Benni ran straight to Mats - the footballer distantly realised that his mother was probably not here to support her son - and Mats wrapped him in a hug. “Congratulations!” Mats crowed, giving Benni’s hair a ruffle.  
 To his immense surprise, Benni went up on his tiptoes and kissed Mats full on the mouth. Mats kissed him back, and smiled when they broke apart, at Benni’s confidence and how he just radiated happiness.

“Thank you,” the pianist said his eyes shining. Mats kissed him again, then pulled Benni into his arms once more, holding him there for a while.

“I’m proud of you,” Mats said under his breath, dropping a kiss into Benni’s hair. He felt Benni’s grip tighten around him and smiled, rubbing his boyfriends back. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for coming. It means the world to me.”

“Your mum didn’t show?”

“She never does.” Mats looked down at him, but there was no trace of disappointment in his eyes. “It’s better this way. Don’t worry.” He kissed Mats again, smiling, and Mats just smiled back at him.

…

Mesut held it together until the very last day. The _last_ day. He fell apart. He had Biology on the Monday morning and Chemistry in the afternoon and had spent the majority of Sunday trying not to panic. The night came around and his anxiety took full hold - his parents had gone to sleep long ago and now he was curled up in a ball on his bed hyperventilating into his duvet cover and trying to muffle his sobs.

His parents’ room was downstairs, so he was nearly sure they wouldn’t be able to hear him. That wasn’t much comfort. He felt like someone was strangling him, pulling a rope tight around his chest so he couldn’t breathe. Worries and second guesses had ingrained themselves in his mind and he couldn’t stop thinking he was going to fail tomorrow when he sat down to write an essay.

His mind was like another person, yelling abuse at him. _You’re going to fail. You’re such a disappointment. Why would anyone ever love you, when you can’t even make it through high school exams? Why would anyone give you a job? Why do you want to be successful when all you can do is fail?_

His vision whitened as his breathing got more and more ragged, and it was harder and harder to get air into his lungs. His body was in a state of shock, his arms heavy, his legs like lead, pinning his hands between his thighs. It hurt his head as he took more and more shallow breaths and he just wanted it to end.

He managed to roll onto his back, stuffing a pillow over his face to muffle the sobs, and the tightness in his chest began to lessen. Breathing became easier, and finally he was getting air in his lungs, drawing huge deep breaths to will the attack away.

Tears were rolling down his face and some splashed onto the floor as he reached for his phone.

_are you awake? - mes_

It took Xabi a few minutes to reply, and in that time, Mesut managed to get his breathing back to normal.

_i am, what’s up? - xabs_

Mesut felt pathetic as he typed out a reply.

_i freaked out about exams, i’m alright now i guess i just wanted to talk to you - mes_

A few seconds after he’d sent the text, he received a call from his friend.

“Hi,” he whispered. “My parents are asleep.”

“Are you okay?” Xabi said straight away.

“Yeah, I just panicked,” his voice hitched a bit and he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“Mesut,” Xabi’s voice was tinny and crackly but it was him, and that was enough to calm Mesut down quite easily. “It’s okay, you’re going to be absolutely fine with these exams, okay? You hear me? You’ve nailed all this shit and you can do it.”

“What if I c-can’t?” Mesut stammered.  

“You can. I’m telling you, you can. You can do this, you can do anything, okay? Do you want me to come round or something?”

Mesut wanted nothing more than for Xabi to be there with him, but he’d never be able to get him in the house. “It’s so late,” he murmured. “I think - I should be okay.”

“Are you sure? Can you sneak out?”

“It’s fine, Xabi, I’ll be okay.”

“Well then do you want to walk to school together tomorrow?”

“I - uh - it’s so out of your way?”

“I’ll just walk down to yours early and we can walk together. Sound like a plan?”

“Okay.” Mesut smiled.

Xabi must have heard him brighten as he chuckled. “There we go, keep smiling, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“You’re going to be fine, Mes, you’re going to be absolutely fine. I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Xabi.”

“Any time. I’m always here for you.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Get some sleep, you. See you tomorrow.”

And with that Xabi hung up. Mesut got back into bed, and put his phone on the bedside table. His breathing was definitely back to normal and he smiled as he inhaled deeply.

Everything was going to be fine.

…

True to his word, Xabi was waiting just around the corner from Mesut’s house. He wrapped Mesut in a tight hug, then held him at arms length, his hands on Mesut’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

The younger boy nodded and Xabi hugged him again. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you, Xabi.”

“Now let’s get to school, yeah?” 

They walked together, Xabi doing most of the talking - his attempts to avoid the topic of exams did not go unnoticed by Mesut, but he appreciated it. When they got to school, their coffee cups empty, Xabi gave him another hug.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Mesut murmured into his shoulder and Xabi hugged him tighter.

“You’re going to be fine. I’ll see you afterwards yeah?”

“Yep. Good luck with German.”

“Thanks,” Xabi nodded, and they went their separate ways.

The exam went reasonably well; Mesut finished with time to check over what he’d written, and then had a minute or so to relax before the supervisors called time. They were allowed to go, and the boys all headed out the gates and down to the mall for lunch.

The afternoon session of exams started at 2, and begrudgingly they traipsed back into school. Mesut and the others had a music exam, and Miro and the seniors had Geography, while Thomas found himself with a free afternoon. He headed down to the art rooms and did his painting assignment for a while, then found his boyfriend’s exam room and sat outside against the wall, sketchbook in hand, and waited for the exam to finish.

Miroslav came out with his phone in his hand, and almost didn’t see Thomas if the younger boy hadn’t called his name.

“I just texted you,” Miro laughed, pulling Thomas to his feet. “Did you sit out here the whole time?”

 “Nah, I did some art then came up here about twenty minutes ago.”

“Can I see what you’re drawing?”

“Maybe later. And speaking of later…” He curled his arms around Miroslav’s waist and pulled him closer. “My parents aren’t home… Do you want to come to mine?”

“I’d love to,” Miro kissed him on the lips then smiled at him. Thomas smiled back.

They stopped off at the supermarket to buy food for dinner, which involved Miroslav obediently pushing the trolley around while Thomas threw things in.

Back at home, Thomas headed into the kitchen and made dinner. Miroslav offered to help, but Thomas shook his head. “I don’t trust you in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” Miro rolled his eyes, but it was quite true. He was not the best at cooking.

Instead, he sat at the bench and watched his boyfriend dash around the kitchen with amusement. For someone who could be awfully uncoordinated sometimes, Thomas seemed to be incredibly at ease, and handled the pots and pans with a sort of deft skill that Miroslav envied.

“Babe, can you stir this for a second?” Happy to finally be helping him out, Miro did as he was told while Thomas rummaged around in the cupboards for plates and cutlery and set the table. They settled down to eat.  

“Who taught you to cook?” Miro asked.

“Mum and Dad. They’re both pretty good. They used to always let me choose a recipe on a Friday night and we’d all cook together."

 “That’s so cute.”

Thomas shrugged. “My family always did stuff like that together. We still do.”

“My parents were away all the time. We had a babysitter until my brother got old enough to look after us. We would go on a big family holiday once a year but apart from that I never really saw my parents.”

“That sucks.”

“It means I’m closer with my siblings, even if they are older than me.”

“I can’t imagine not being close with my parents.”

“Yours are very different to mine. If I’d been raised by your parents I’d probably be the same as you. I think Dad viewed kids as carrying on the family name. I was an accident, I think. A boy and a girl and they would have been perfect, and then 7 years after Anna was born I popped up.”

“Does sound a bit suspicious,” Thomas chuckled.

“Pretty sure my brother was pissed. Means he won’t get as much money when Dad pops his clogs.”

“Isn’t he at med school?”

“Yep.”

“He’ll be rich anyway.”

Miro shrugged, twirling pasta round his fork for a good few seconds.

“What are you going to do next year?” Thomas asked.

 The senior shrugged again.

“Shouldn’t you be deciding now?”

“Might just take a year off. That way I can come see you and stuff.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. Do what you want to do.”

“I haven’t even touched a college prospectus.”

“Maybe you should think about having a look at them.”

“I’ve got time,” Miroslav said dismissively, and Thomas took this as a cue to drop the subject. His boyfriend was looking down at his food, and Thomas made a mental note that this was something that needed to be discussed.

They finished dinner, cleaned up and ended up giving each other messy blowjobs on the couch in Thomas’ room. It was getting late, and Miroslav, being the sensible one as usual, decided they should head to bed. It was never awkward that they shared a bed like this, without doing anything sexual. Miroslav only now realised how much he craved to just be near Thomas, to touch him, not sexually, but in a way that mattered more; legs tangled together, the warmth of Thomas’ body against his chest, their hands roaming, fingers dancing across bare skin. Miro’s arm was currently around his boyfriend, and he played with the hem of Thomas’ shirt, letting his fingers ghost across the sliver of skin that peeked out, a pale colour, and sporting tiny freckles here and there, and it was beautiful to Miro.

“It’s our one month tomorrow,” Thomas said, a mumble, his face squished against Miro’s chest.

“I know,” Miro replied. “Are we going to do anything?”

“Can we go out for dinner? To that Italian place?”

“Of course, babe.”

“I love you.”

Miroslav felt his heart beat a little faster. “I love you too, kochanie.”

“Night Miro.”

“Goodnight.”

Thomas eventually fell asleep and Miro reached over and turned out the light, gently placing his arm over the boy’s waist. He was protective of Thomas, he wasn’t going to deny it. Sometimes it scared him half to death when his boyfriend would throw himself into tackles on the football field. He couldn’t stop smiling at the declaration of love - though they were only official a month ago, their relationship had been going on for some time, and Miroslav did not feel that it was too quick. He did love Thomas. But what the boy had brought up earlier also scared him - the fact that his boyfriend was aware of the fact they were going to have to do long distance in the coming year was something he didn’t want to think about - but he was being stupid. Of course Thomas knew. Miro knew it too, he just didn’t want to think about the future.

He wanted nothing more than to just do high school all over again, and to spend as much time with his boyfriend as possible. The prospect of leaving Thomas behind the next year was not one he liked one bit.

…

Miroslav woke the next morning with a sore arm but when he remembered the words they’d exchanged last night and the fact that it was their one month, he couldn’t help but just smile. The alarm was blaring and he fumbled to turn it off, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Thomas didn’t even stir. Miro leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”

He felt Thomas’ eyelashes flutter, and the boy let out a whine. “No.”

“Yes,” Miroslav said, kissing him again. “Happy one month, baby. I’m having a shower. You better be up when I come back.”

He wasn’t.

“Oi, loser, we’re going to be late if you don’t get up,” Miroslav laughed in his ear.

Thomas swatted at him and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.

When Miro returned five minutes later, Thomas was still in bed. “I don’t particularly want to miss my Economics exam, Tom. And Jogi will be pissed if you don’t turn up for History.”  

“You suck,” came the muffled reply.

Miro chuckled and yanked the covers off him.

“Noooo,” Thomas whined.

“Get up, Müller.”

“I don’t wanna go to school.” 

“You are _literally_ a five year old,” Miroslav said exasperatedly, shaking his head and tickling Thomas’ toes. “Get up.”

“Don’t make me.”  

“Thomas - what’s your middle name?”

“Don’t have one.” 

“Are you lying?”

“Nope.”

“Thomas.”

“Yes, Miroslav Josef Klose?”

“How did you know that!”

“Secret.”

“Get up, you loser, or I’m leaving without you. We can stop at the bakery if you’re quick enough.”

At the prospect of sweet food, Thomas was up in an instant. As he dashed around getting ready, Miro shook his head again, smiling fondly.

“How did I end up dating a child?” he laughed to himself.

His boyfriend’s head popped around the door. “Can we get hot chocolates too?”

Miro just laughed and nodded. Thomas was truly one of a kind.

…

“What did you two get up to last night?” Lukas yelled across the cafeteria at the top of his voice when Thomas and Miro entered. Xabi rolled his eyes and turned back to his studying. Per, Philipp and Jerome were discussing economic theories, Sami and Basti were looking at something on Bastian’s phone, and Robert and Manuel were making out a little way away.

Thomas made his way over to his own friends and Miro gave him a quick kiss goodbye before sitting down “None of your business,” Miro said with a small smile.

“Did you fuck?” Lukas said, without an ounce of tact.

“Jesus, really cutting to the chase here aren’t we?” Miroslav rolled his eyes. “No, we did not. And it’s really none of your business.”

“That really would have made this History exam bearable but oh well. Let us know when you do,” Lukas said cheekily.

“You’ll be the last person I’m telling anything.”

“Shame, Poldi,” Basti cut in.

“Fuck off.”

 The two began to tussle. Miroslav shook his head and joined in on the economics discussion.

At the end of the day, after a good six hours of exams, the footballers had practice, and dragged their half-dead forms around the field for an hour before Jogi realised there was no point continuing and let them finish up.

“You better all be giving me good History essays to mark,” their coach told them.

There were a few nervous laughs, then Jogi waved them away.

The rest of the week was stressful, and when Friday afternoon finally came around and they were free, everyone seemed to let out a sigh of relief.

The footballers won their game and by a sizeable margin too, and Miroslav called everyone round to his house in what was supposed to be a celebratory party but what ended up as them all lounging around on the couches, exhausted. Mesut had even fallen asleep in the corner, and before draping a blanket over him, Xabi had snapped a quick picture of him.

Benni had a very sleepy Mats with his head in his lap, and was playing with the footballer’s dark curls absentmindedly. Thomas was splayed out on the ground, Miro cross legged next to him. Everyone was exhausted.

Lukas was the only one seemingly not tired, and was trying to put some music on.

As a rather energetic dance beat burst from the speakers, everyone groaned.

“No, Poldi,” Philipp whined from his spot in an armchair.

“You’re all pathetic,” the striker scowled.

Bastian gave him a kick. Per threw a cushion at him. Lukas scowled some more.

…

The weekend passed in the same state of drowsiness, and despite the amount of rest most of them had got, everyone was tired on Monday. The prospect of potential exam results made everything worse.

Fortunately, all their teachers had not managed to mark over the weekend, and it was quite a relaxing day.

“Do you reckon Mats has tapped that yet?” Manuel smirked, motioning in the direction of Mats and Benni, who were at their own table a little way away, eating lunch together.

“You can tell he wants to,” Sami replied. “He’s got the biggest heart eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Benni’s a virgin, if Mats knows what he’s doing he’ll be taking it slow.” All heads turned to Robert.

“How do _you_ know that, Lewy?” 

“Come on, just look at him. He’s so angelic and shy, and that little floppy fringe he’s got, you can’t tell me he’s had sex before.”

They boys turned back to look at the couple. “Okay true,” Manuel laughed.

“Did you guys get any papers back?” Per and Lukas had sat down with their lunch.

The younger boys shook their heads. “They’re taking their time this year.”

“Where’s Basti?” Lukas piped up.

Everyone shrugged.

“He was just in Geography with us.” Lukas frowned.

“Maybe with Jogi?” Xabi suggested.

Lukas frowned and was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke again; “Has anyone else noticed he’s been a bit different recently?”

Everyone shrugged again, but Philipp caught Miro’s eye. Lukas didn’t notice and carried on. “Really? Maybe it’s just me.” He began eating his lunch, and no one pushed the topic any further.

Philipp made a face at Miro. This was not good.

…

Mesut was sitting in Calculus when there was a knock at the door. All the boys looked up as Mr Bierhoff opened it to reveal one of the school counsellors. The woman muttered something to Bierhoff and handed him a note, which he read then turned around to face his class, his gaze coming to rest on Mesut.

“Özil,” he beckoned.

Mesut rose to his feet, hating having all the attention on him.

The note told him he was to be having a counsellor’s appointment at the beginning of his lunchtime. He folded it into his pocket and made his way back to his seat, ignoring Lukas who gave him a concerned look.

He spent the lesson trying to figure out why on earth he was being called up to the counsellors. When the bell finally rang, he made his way down to where he knew their offices to be. He stepped in to the poster adorned waiting room, and was greeted by the same counsellor who had delivered his note.

“Ah, Mesut!” She sounded far too happy to see him for someone Mesut had never met in his life. “Take a seat and Mrs Wagner will be with you in a second, sweetheart.”

The patronising pet name made him cringe, but he sat down, letting his school bag fall to the ground, and wondered again what he was doing here.

A lady who he presumed was Mrs Wagner poked her head around one of the doors. “Mesut?” He nodded nervously. “Come in, sweetie.”

“So,” she said, when he was seated on the couch. “We’ve had a friend of yours express some concern for your well being. He didn’t tell us anything more but requested that we make an appointment with you to see if you wanted to talk.”

“Which friend?” Mesut demanded, a little shocked at how harsh his voice was.

“I don’t think that really matters, what matters is that you’re here and -“

“Which friend?” He repeated through gritted teeth.

“Xabi Alonso.”

“I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“He seemed to think you might need some help-“

“I don’t need any help. I’m absolutely fine. He just worries.”

“We’re just here to support you, maybe it would be good to talk-“

 “I said I don’t want to.” He got to his feet, his legs feeling like jelly. Xabi had told someone about his anxiety. “Please don’t call me up here again.”

“Mesut-“ she protested, but he was already hurrying out of the door. He stormed down the corridors in the direction of the library, where he knew Xabi would be. He felt betrayed, upset, hurt, he couldn’t believe Xabi would tell someone about his stupid issues, as if he needed psychiatric help or something of the sort.

He found Xabi sitting in his usual seat at the corner table.

“Hey,” the Spaniard smiled up at him when he approached, evidently oblivious to Mesut’s anger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, talking to the counsellor about me?” He tried not to slam his hands down on the table too hard, but the action made quite a bit of noise and people turned around to look at them. He hadn’t exactly spoken quietly either.

“Mesut-“ Xabi looked alarmed at his outburst.

“You had no _fucking_ right to do that, you hear me?” He hissed.

“I just thought-“

“I don’t give a fuck what you thought,” Mesut was surprised at himself again at how vocal he was being. “You betrayed me, I thought I could trust you with this but you - just don’t you fucking dare tell them anything about me ever.”

And with that Mesut spun on his heel and stormed out of the library.

…

Everyone else in the room was stunned into silence for a few seconds. Xabi watched wide-eyed as his friend stalked out the door. Then he started throwing his books into his bag and stumbled in the direction Mesut had gone.

He could see his friend at the end of the corridor, his head down, his hands in his pockets, and started to run in order to catch up with him.

“Mesut! Mesut wait!” He called, but his friend kept walking.

He eventually caught him, pulling at his arm to get him to look at him. Mesut’s expression was stony.

“Mesut, please, I’m sorry, I just thought it might be good for you to talk to someone about everything-“

“Well I’m telling you it won’t be good,” Mesut spat, and Xabi shrunk back at how angry he was.

“Mesut,” he lowered his voice. “You called me up in tears. This anxiety is controlling your life, and maybe if you just talked to a counsellor you could-“

“I don’t need a shrink,” Mesut’s voice shook dangerously. Xabi looked at him helplessly. “I don’t. You don’t know me.”

Xabi felt his heart contract. Seeing Mesut like this was a different type of pain. It welled in his chest, actually hurt him physically. All he wanted was for Mesut to be happy.

“Please, Mes,” he whispered, reaching out tentatively and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I just want to help you. I can’t do everything and I need to you to be okay.”

“I’m not seeing a shrink,” Mesut replied, shrugging it off. He looked increasingly stressed, this corners of his mouth turned down, the furrows in his brow suddenly much more pronounced.

“They’re not shrinks. They’re not psychiatrists. They’re just normal counsellors.” 

“Xabi, I’m not doing it.” Mesut said adamantly. “Thank you for trying to help, but I just don’t want to.”

He brushed past Xabi and began to walk away.

“How am I supposed to help you when you can’t even help yourself?” Xabi exclaimed, his frustration finally getting the better of him.

Mesut turned back to look at him and Xabi saw with a jolt that there were tears in the other boy’s eyes. He felt guilty instantly, and opened his mouth to apologise but Mesut turned back around and just walked away.

“Fuck,” Xabi swore under his breath, and kicked the wall. This hurt considerably and he spent the next minute jumping around clutching his foot. Limping, and hating himself for what he’d accused his friend of, he followed the way Mesut had gone.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit more than a month again, sorry lovelies, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've got the plot fleshed out for the rest of the story, but still, please let me know what you thought!
> 
> Comment, kudos, subscribe, it means the world to me. 
> 
> This chapter was kinda relevant to my life at the moment as I start my practice exams tomorrow and my own school orchestra got most outstanding at our music festival a few weeks ago so I kinda based the competition structure thing on that, hope you liked it :D 
> 
> Like I said, it's going to be a busy few weeks for me with exams, but I shall try my best to write and update as soon as possible!!! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter as it only motivates me even more to write! 
> 
> ily all, see you soon


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made far too many of them cry. Whoops.

Xabi was absolutely distraught when he came home. His mother noticed the second he stepped into the house. “Xabier, tell me what’s wrong this instant.” She sat him down at the kitchen table.

“I tried so hard to help but I just screwed up,” he said, dismayed. “I really screwed up.”

His mother rubbed his back tentatively. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Xabi sighed. “I… I was worried about Mesut and his anxiety so I booked him a counselling session with the school but he just… he blew up at me and told me I had no right to do that and now he’s mad at me and I don’t want him to be mad because I was just trying to help and I didn’t realise and - ” He was getting hysterical. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, calm down, sweetie.” She wrapped an arm around him and brought him closer.

“I screwed up,” Xabi said. “I really screwed up so badly, Mama.”

“I’m sure he’s not mad at you.”

“He is.”

“Do you want to give him a call or something?”

“He hates me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”

Xabi just shook his head, mutely.

He tore himself up for the rest of the night, wondering whether he should text Mesut, or whether that would just make things worse, whether he should keep trying to get Mesut to go to the counsellors, whether the boy would even forgive him at all.

 Eventually he turned his phone off and spent a good few hours on his computer googling anxiety and different therapists in the area. He drew up a Word document with all the information about the different companies and people and put the prices and the review summaries in, just in case Mesut did change his mind.

He called Philipp later that night.  

“Xabier,” his friend sounded irritable. “It’s 11 o’clock. You’re usually in bed by now.”

“Well I’m not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need some advice.”

“Of course you bloody do,” Philipp sighed. “Only half an hour, okay?”

“You’re the best, Fips.”

“So what’s troubling you, Xabi Perfect-Life-Alonso?”

“My life is not perfect.” Xabi hissed.

 “Why would that be?”

“I uh… Mesut’s mad at me.”

“Why?” 

“I um… well I did something I shouldn’t have without asking him first.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Great.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Well then why the hell are you calling me up asking for advice?”

“Wait, Fips, please just listen. I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I, Xabi.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Likewise.” Philipp laughed. “You know, by the sound of it you seem very… I don’t know…”

“Very what?”

“Very… Concerned? No - I don’t know - you’re just very caught up with Mesut.” There was a pause. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

“We’re _just_ _friends_ Philipp.” Xabi said through gritted teeth.

“I know, I know, I’m just wondering, because you’re very concerned about what he thinks of you and stuff and yeah.”

“‘And stuff and yeah?’ Thanks a lot Fips.”

“No problemo.”

“Why did I even call you?”

“You tell me.”

Xabi just sighed.

“Don’t come whining to me tomorrow when you haven’t got your usual ten hour beauty sleep, okay?” Philipp chuckled. “And good luck with Mesut. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Xabi replied, and hung up.

He was ever so nervous the next day at school. He didn’t know how Mesut was going to react to him, and caught a few glimpses of him during the day, although the younger boy did not see him.

Mesut looked happy enough, and Xabi felt quite relieved. They had Spanish after lunch and Mesut turned up just after Xabi and Miro, but didn’t make any effort to greet him.

_Here goes nothing_ , Xabi thought. “Uh… hey.”

Mesut didn’t smile, but he didn’t ignore Xabi either. “Hey.”

Xabi could feel himself blushing as he realised he didn’t know what to say now. “Um… I just… I’m sorry for what happened yesterday.”

“It’s okay.” Mesut still didn’t smile, but Xabi felt a wave of relief.

“Look I - ”

“Talk about it later, yeah?” Mesut said, motioning towards the front of the room, where their teacher was preparing to start the lesson.

“Okay,” Xabi said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

He busied himself in writing the date in his notebook, and though he could feel Mesut watching him, he kept his eyes towards the front.

A few minutes in he felt Mesut tap his hand. The younger boy passed a note across the table.

_stop stressing! :) it’s alright we just need to talk okay?_

Xabi looked up in surprise. Mesut had a little smile on his face and Xabi smiled back, feeling the tightening in his chest subside almost instantly.

They spent the rest of the lesson in silence. When the bell rung, Xabi packed up his stuff and waited expectantly for Mesut. The younger boy put his bag on his back and looked at Xabi with another small smile. “What are you doing after school?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve got Chemistry now, so do you want to meet me there afterwards and we can talk?”

“Sounds good. See you later.”

“See you later,” Mesut echoed, and headed off down to his Chemistry class.

Xabi watched him go, feeling another wave of relief, then turned and walked to his own class.

…

Lukas was very confused.

Bastian was not himself and it only seemed to be around him.

In class he was different, playing football, at lunch, he was different and Lukas could not for the life of him work out what was wrong.

He had started to ask Bastian if he was okay, anything for a hint at what was up, but his friend simply shook it off, smiling a smile that wasn’t quite right, and nodding too vigorously for it to be genuine.

“I’m fine, Lukas, stop worrying.” It was a line he’d heard many a time in the last few days.

He ended up so frustrated that he couldn’t figure out what was going on with the boy who’d been his best friend for the majority of his life that he ended up going to Philipp.

“Please tell me what’s up with Basti, has he told you anything?” Lukas implored.

Philipp looked at him carefully. “Basti’s fine,” he said.

“Not around me he isn’t.”

“I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“I know you’re lying.”  

“Why would I lie? Bast’s fine, Lukas honestly.”

 “Around you, maybe. I’ve apparently done something to piss him off because he hardly talks to me these days.”

Philipp shrugged. “I haven’t noticed anything strange.”

“Fuck off Fips, I know you know.”

“Why would he tell me? Why not Miro or you for that matter?”

“It’s just around me! He’s… different!”

“Basti’s fine. He’s probably stressed about something and it’ll pass in a few days.”

“So you admit that he is different?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“God damnit Fips, just tell me!” 

“Ask him yourself!”

“So you do you know something!”

Philipp rolled his eyes. “I don’t know anything, Lukas. If you’re concerned go ask him. You’re best friends, for god’s sake.”

Lukas scowled at him. “We’re supposed to be best friends, which is exactly why I am so confused that he is acting the way he is and why he seems to just be like that around me and no one else!”

“Go talk to him yourself.”  

“For fuck’s sake, Fips,” Lukas gave him a very exasperated look.

“I’m serious, go talk to him yourself!”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“I still know you’re lying.”   
…

Xabi spent the duration of his Geography lesson - his last class of the day - anxiously tapping his pen against his paper. Miro kept telling him to stop. The other boy was just as unfocused as he was as Xabi could see him texting Thomas under the table. But Xabi found himself unable to stop fidgeting. His stomach was in knots again, despite the signs of reassurance he had received from Mesut.

When the bell rang, he hurried down to Mesut’s History classroom and waited for his friend. Mats and Benni were the first out the door, Mats wrapping his arm around the pianist’s waist as they passed Xabi. They both grinned at him. The rest of the football boys followed, Bastian giving Xabi a punch on the shoulder and Manuel ruffling his hair. Finally Mesut, Toni and Thomas emerged, the last of the class.

Mesut shot a smile at Xabi and Xabi felt his heart flutter. The younger boy waved his friends away - Xabi noticed that Thomas looked around to watch them with a grin on his face as he walked away.

“Hey,” Mesut said, putting his hands in his pockets and smiling again at Xabi.

Xabi didn’t know what to say and it frightened him. It had never been like this with Mesut - it was always easy, he didn’t have to think of things to say because it all came naturally. Instead he just looked at his friend hopelessly, feeling his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“You’re really not yourself today,” Mesut said softly, laughing a little and swatting at Xabi gently.

Xabi ran a hand through his hair and laughed. The noise sounded foreign to his ears. “Sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“Shall we go sit down somewhere?” Mesut suggested.

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good.”

They walked in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Xabi was following where Mesut went, and somehow they ended up down at the football fields. Mesut tossed his bag on the ground and sat down, lying backwards and looking up at Xabi with a smile on his face. “Sit, you loser.”

Xabi obliged. He crossed his legs and wiped his embarrassingly sweaty palms on his trousers. “I can’t believe you’re forgiving me this quickly.”    
Mesut sat up and looked at him carefully. “I’m sorry for how I treated you yesterday. You were just trying to help and I didn’t realise that.”

“I should have asked you first,” Xabi replied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It just scared me that someone else apart from you knows about it all and I’m not really sure why that scared me but it did. I just… I trust you so much. I tell you things I don’t tell Benni or Thomas or anyone else and I was just feeling hurt because you’d told someone else and I didn’t think you would. It scared me that that was out of my control, you know?” He scratched his ear and smiled self deprecatingly. “Now I realise that it’s a counsellor, of course they’re not going to tell anyone, but still, it just scared me.”

Xabi nodded. “I promise I’ll never do it again, I’m so sorry for not asking you first and - ”

“No wait, listen. I don’t know if I’m ready just yet, but I want to go talk to someone about everything. Like a counsellor or a therapist or someone.”

Xabi was taken aback and it evidently showed. “You… You do?”

“If you’ll come with me. But not just yet.”

“Of course I’ll come with you.”

Mesut smiled at him, and it was probably the most genuinely thankful smile that Xabi had ever received. He smiled back.

“I actually googled lots of people in the area last night, just in case you did,” Xabi said nervously.

“Okay. Okay that’s good. I don’t want my parents finding out. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. I’m here to do that for you. I’ll do anything for you.” The confession slipped from his mouth before he’d really realised how intimate it sounded. He blushed, and looked down at the ground quickly.  

Mesut was silent, and Xabi didn’t dare look at him. A few seconds passed, in which Xabi found immense interest in the grass they sat on, and Mesut finally spoke. “Thank you.”

Xabi snuck a look up at him and was surprised to see tears in his friend’s eyes. “No, shit, why are you crying, I’m sorry, fuck - ”

“It’s just, I’ve never had a friend like you.” Mesut laughed, wiping his eyes. He leaned over and hugged Xabi tightly. “Thank you so much.”

A little shocked, but relieved and happy nonetheless, Xabi hugged him back.

…

“Honestly, when are they going to get together?” Thomas said to Toni as they walked away from Mesut and Xabi.

“Who?” 

“Xabi and Mesut, you egg.”

“What? I thought… no, no way.” Toni’s head spun around to look at their friends, but they had disappeared around a corner.

“Yes way. Did you see how Xabi was looking at him?”

Toni shook his head in disbelief. “Is Mesut even gay?”

“I thought he was,” Thomas shrugged. “But he hasn’t explicitly come out.”

“No fucking way. They’re like best friends. They spend so much time together just studying and stuff, there’s no way…”

“Are they really just studying?” Thomas waggled his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Toni said adamantly. “Fuck off, Thomas, there is no way they are secretly fucking or something. Not Mesut. He would have told us.”

“Just because it’s not happening now doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen!” Thomas said cheerfully.

They’d reached the school gates and Toni shook his head. “You’re out of your mind. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that he walked away, Thomas laughing behind him.

A thought struck the young artist. He headed down to the front office and picked up a bunch of college prospectuses for his boyfriend. He had no idea what Miroslav wanted to do as a job so he grabbed a huge variety, from sport to science, then headed over to Miro’s house.

“Hey you,” Miro said in surprise when he opened the door, smiling and pecking Thomas on the cheek. “You didn’t tell me you were going to come round.”  

Thomas shrugged, unzipped his bag, and held out the pile of pamphlets and booklets towards Miroslav.

“Oh,” the senior said, his smile fading. “I see.”

“I know you’re trying to avoid it, but you need to just look at some options, at the very least,” Thomas said. “I can help you.”

“Okay,” Miro nodded. “Okay, let’s do it then.” He let Thomas in, and Thomas was greeted by Miro’s mother, who he was surprised to see.

“Ah, Thomas, darling, do you want a drink of anything?”

“Two cokes, please Mama,” Miro said and lead Thomas through to the lounge. They sat on the floor and Thomas offloaded his armful of paper.

They sifted through them, Thomas asking if he would want to do a certain subject or work in a certain field, and Miroslav was a little vague, but they managed to narrow it down. There was one booklet that had information about studying politics, and another that focused on psychology, while a few others were on sport academies and law school. Then there were the university specific pamphlets, spouting emotional propaganda and trying to convince the reader to enrol at their university.

Miro’s mother brought them drinks and a plate of sandwiches, and together they weighed up the positives and negatives of each career.

“I mean, it would be bloody nice to just play football for the rest of my life,” Miro reasoned. He was flicking through a book on sporting scholarships - not that he needed monetary aid.

“When do you have to apply for those by?”

Miro rifled through the pages and balked. “Uh… Shit. Next weekend.”

“I told you you needed to at least have a look.”

“Shit.”

“You’ve got time, it’s okay. What are the other deadlines?” Thomas leaned over and grabbed a few of the books. The dates ranged from as early as the following weekend to a few months away.

“I guess I know what I’m going to be doing this weekend,” Miro said, running a hand through his hair.

“I can come and help you again if you like.”

“Please do, or I’ll just put it off.” Miroslav tossed the pamphlets away and shuffled over to Thomas on the floor. “Now, I think we’ve done enough of this for the day, don’t you?”

 Thomas chuckled, as Miro reached up and cupped his cheek, tilting his face towards him and capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss.

“You know,” Miro whispered, nuzzling his head into Thomas’ neck and pressing quick little kisses to the skin there. “I would much rather stay here next year with you so I could do this with you all the time. If I go to college I’ll be so far away…” He kissed up Thomas’ jaw.

“Stop trying to convince me,” Thomas laughed lowly, and kissed Miroslav again, harder this time.

“Thomas sweetie, do you want to stay - oh come on, Miroslav Josef Klose, at least take him to your room!”

Miro had jumped away from Thomas as his mother made an entrance. Both boys were blushing crimson at being caught, and Thomas could not meet her eyes. “Thomas, would you like to stay for dinner?”

“That would be lovely, yes please,” he said, his cheeks still red.

“Fabulous, I’ll call you boys down for dinner, okay? Go upstairs if you’re going to be doing things, I thought you would know better, Miroslav.” She wagged a finger at him.

Miro hurriedly ushered Thomas to his room and shut the door. “Sorry about that, sometimes I completely forget she’s here when she is.”

“You know,” Thomas said, climbing onto Miroslav’s bed and curling up. “I’ve been to your house so many times and I’ve only really seen your mum about twice.”

“She’s off to England with Dad tomorrow.”

“They’re away so much. It’s crazy.”

“Gives me time to myself,” Miro shrugged. He rolled onto the bed next to Thomas and gave him a kiss. “Are you sure you’re good to stay for dinner?”

Thomas nodded. “Mum’s working the late shift at the hospital, and Dad’s got a drinks with his work colleagues. It was just going to be me by myself anyway.”

“Cool.” Miro reached up and ran his fingers through Thomas’ hair, his thumbs stroking along his forehead. “If we have time, I want to take you out and show you somewhere.”

“How secretive,” Thomas chuckled. “Are you going to tell me where?”

“It’s a surprise, you dick.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Well you better start liking them.”

They made out for a while, kissing lazily, their hands tracing slow patterns over each other’s bodies, until Miro’s mum called them for dinner.

Thomas found himself doing most of the talking at the dinner table. He’d never really interacted much with Nina - Miro’s mother - and so she had a plethora of questions for him.

Miro had finished his dinner, and had seconds by the time that Thomas had even got half way through his meal, due to the continuous barrage of questions. It was sweet though, he liked Nina, no matter how absent she seemed to be from Miro’s life.

The two boys cleared the table and cleaned up, then Miro told her they were going out and she waved them away without even the mention of a curfew or to be safe.

“Here, you can borrow some of my clothes. It’s gonna be cold.” Thomas did as he was told, and the two climbed into Miro’s car as the older began to drive. True to every time he was a passenger, Thomas plugged his phone in. Miroslav chuckled as some rock song started playing through the speakers. “It’s automatic with you now, isn’t it?”

Thomas just grinned. “You’re stuck with me.”

They stopped at the supermarket and Miro bought a bottle of wine and some chocolates, then they kept driving.

“Where are we going?” Thomas asked.

“You really don’t like surprises do you?”

“I _did_ tell you before.”

“We’re nearly there.”

They’d driven down to the river. Miro turned the engine off, then rummaged around in the back seat and produced a picnic blanket.

“Oh this is so cute,” Thomas giggled, opening his door and getting out of the car.

They placed the picnic blanket on the ground and sat down together. The river sparkled in the moonlight, and other than that there wasn’t much light apart from a streetlight over the car park. Miro pulled Thomas into his arms, and before feeding chocolates to each other, they laughed about how cheesy it was. The bottle of wine was passed back and forth between them.

Eventually, all the chocolates had finished, and the bottle of wine was long gone, and they lay back and looked at the stars together. Thomas, it turned out, knew quite a bit about astronomy and Miro just smiled as he listened to his boyfriend point out different constellations.

“You know, this would be one of those ideal times to use one of those cheesy star pick up lines,” Thomas laughed.

“This whole night has just been pretty cheesy hasn’t it,” Miro chuckled.

“It’s perfect, though,” he turned onto his side to look at Miroslav. “I think I’m in love you.”  

Miro reached out and stroked his cheek, delicately, as if Thomas was made of glass. “I think I’m in love with you too, _kochanie_.”

They kissed, soft and gentle.

“Miro?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”

Miro hit him playfully. “I love you, but you’re a fucking pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, and you love it.”

“I do.” And Miro climbed on top of him and kissed him hard. They were a bit tipsy, both of them, from the wine. Miro had his hand down Thomas’ pants within a couple of seconds. The younger boy was moving his hips, bucking up to meet Miro’s touch, and they both knew things were going to go further from here.

What Miro was not expecting was what Thomas eventually breathed into his neck half way through a sloppy handjob.

“Fuck me,” Thomas moaned. “Please, Miro. I want to go all the way.”

Miro stalled and looked down at him. “Fuck, Tom, okay, fuck.”

“Please.” It was a whine, and Miro felt his heart flutter at how desperately Thomas wanted him.

“You sure you want to do this?” Miro said breathily, panting as Thomas’ hands unbuttoned his jeans.

“Yes,” Thomas murmured. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“God I love you.”

They undressed each other, their mouths desperately finding their way back together each time they were parted. Miro had Thomas spread out across the blanket and straddled him creating the best friction Thomas had felt in his life. His boyfriend scrambled for his wallet and retrieved a condom, then swore. “Shit, lube.” Thomas started laughing as he shot to his car, stark naked, and returned a few seconds later with the bottle. He checked one last time with Thomas - even though he was already rolling a condom on. His pupils were blown out in arousal and his hair a mess from where Thomas had run his hands through it but he looked absolutely beautiful.

It took quite a bit of preparation, and ended up being frantic and messy, but it felt so good, and they pushed and pulled at each other until Thomas came and clenched so tight around his boyfriend that it sent Miro over the edge as well, coming hard into the condom. Miro rocked them through their orgasms, chanting Thomas’ name like a prayer into the crook of the younger boy’s neck where he had buried his head.

They slumped against each other, spent, exhausted, but feeling on top of the world.

“I love you,” Thomas said after a little while. He was smiling, his eyes, shut, and his breath tickled Miro’s skin making the senior let out a little giggle. That set Thomas off too.

“I love you too,” Miro grinned pressing a kiss to his cheek and then his forehead and then his lips. “That was amazing. You’re bloody good for a first timer.”

Thomas just grinned, and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s bare neck, nipping the skin and making Miro flinch. “I wanna leave my mark on you,” he mumbled. “Show everyone you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“You’re outrageous,” the end of Miro’s sentence turned into a moan as Thomas really began to suck on the skin.

After the younger boy had left a decent sized hickey on Miroslav’s throat, that would be able to be seen the next day over his school uniform, they redressed, and ended up cuddling in the back seat of Miro’s car, Thomas curled up in his arms, before the senior drove him back home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Miro grinned, kissing Thomas gently on the lips.

“Love you,” Thomas smiled. “Tonight was incredible.”

“I love you too baby. It was.”

They kissed again, and their lips lingered. Thomas’ arm curled possessively around Miroslav’s waist, not wanting to let him go. He never wanted to let him go.

…

Sam had a girlfriend. Benni was, of course, happy for his brother, but it also meant that he faced many awkward questions from his mother about whether or not he was going to get a girlfriend. He knew they were coming, and braced for it when they sat down at the dinner table that night.

“So, Benedikt, your brother’s got himself a girlfriend, when are you going to bring me home a daughter in law?”

Benni stared at his plate and pushed his food around. _Never_. He thought, but couldn’t tell her that. “I go to an all boys school, Mama, it’s hard to meet girls. I don’t have any friends who are girls.”

“Maybe you should do sport again. Join a running club or - ”

“No, Mama.”

“Don’t interrupt, it’s rude.”

“I don’t want a girlfriend,” Benni said carefully.

“What do you mean you don’t want a girlfriend?”

 And he wanted to do it. To come out right then and there and tell her, but of course he couldn’t.

“I’m just… Focusing on school right now.” He pushed his food around his plate some more, staring at the peas and carrots as if they held the meaning of life.

His mother shrugged as if to say, ‘fair enough.’ Benni could feel Sam looking at him across the table. He didn’t dare look up. His mother seemed to think this an adequate answer and moved the conversation on.

It was Sam who knocked on his bedroom door later that evening, and Benni let him in and the younger boy sat on the end of his bed looking worried.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I can’t Sam. You know I can’t.”

“Maybe she’d be alright about it, you don’t know - ”

“We both know she would not be okay with it.”

They were talking in undertones, and Benni suddenly felt a surge of resentment for his mother - he shouldn’t have to live like this, hiding who he truly was from the woman who had brought him into the world.

“Look, Sam, I want to, believe me, but you know I can’t.”

Sam looked so upset. “Sometimes I wish she wasn’t our mum, just so you could come out to her.”

“She cares about us, Sam. She does. And it’s not my fault she’s homophobic.”

“Maybe I can convince her, show her that it’s okay and that - ”

“Please, Sam, just leave it. It’ll come sometime in the future.” He smiled at his brother, trying to reassure him, although it felt like he was the one who needed reassuring. “Anyway, how’s the girlfriend?” He grinned.

Sam went a bit pink. “She’s good. How’s Mats?”

“He’s good. Look at us with our relationships, hey? We’re doing pretty good.”

Sam nodded, smiling. Benni thanked the heavens he had a brother as wonderful as he did.

…

“Nice hickey, Klose,” Lukas gave Miro a punch on the shoulder as he took his seat at their lunch table.

“Jealous?” Miroslav quipped, taking a bite of his sandwich and grinning wolfishly at Lukas.

“Should I be? What did you get up to with Müller?”

Miroslav just shrugged and grinned some more. Philipp fell into the seat next to his best friend and looked at him carefully. Then the captain raised his eyebrows. “You had sex with Tom, didn’t you?”

Lukas almost fell off the chair.

A faint blush had dusted Miro’s cheeks but he was still smiling and nodded.

Philipp chuckled as Lukas looked at him flabbergasted. “How did you know?”

“Have you ever seen Miro grin that much in two minutes?”

Philipp was right, Miroslav hadn’t stopped smiling as he ate his lunch.

“On a school night, Miro, really?” Lukas adopted a scolding tone then fell about laughing at Miroslav’s eye roll.

Bastian and Manu joined them, and Lukas’ gaze flicked to the two older boys, his eyes widening pointedly at Miro. He received another roll of the eyes.

“Jogi’s starting two practices a week as of next week,” Manuel informed them.

Lukas looked like he was about to burst and shot another pointed look at Miro, who didn’t say a word. Philipp found the whole thing rather amusing.

A record third eye roll in the space of a minute was gifted to Lukas as his resolve broke. “Miro fucked Thomas!” He exclaimed, far too loudly for Miroslav’s liking.

Manuel’s fork clattered to the table and he leaned over and high fived Miro.

Bastian was laughing; “Finally, you loser.”

“Was he good?” Manuel asked.

“Seriously, Neuer?”

“No trouble getting it up? You’re getting old, Miro.”

Bastian yelped when Miro hit him. “Sod off.”

“How long’s it been since your last fuck?” Lukas’ eyes were full of mischief.

“I am this close to leaving,” Miro growled.

“You did make sure he’s definitely of age, right?” Bastian giggled.

Shaking his head and looking thoroughly exasperated, Miro got to his feet and began putting his belongings into his bag, then gave Basti a well aimed kick and walked off in the direction of Thomas and the music boys.

“Go sit with your fuck buddy!” Lukas called after him.

“You do realise they are in a relationship and it’s not just a one night stand?” Philipp asked them all when the laughter had died down.

“Yeah but it’s fun to wind him up,” Lukas shrugged.

“When none of you are in proper relationships?”

“Excuse me - ” Manuel looked offended

“Do you and Lewy do anything besides fuck each other?”

“Touché.”

“You’re not in a proper relationship either, Fips,” Lukas pointed out.

“Yeah well I’m not teasing him, am I?”

“Lukas is still bitter about the fact that there aren’t any girls here, so he takes it out on Miro,” Manu chuckled.

“I’ll always be bitter about that. All you gay boys have got a huge picking to choose from and I’m stuck here. You know it’s bloody hard being straight.”

“You picked the wrong school, mate,” Manu clapped him on the back.

Philipp’s couldn’t help but glance at Bastian, who had gone very quiet and was now staring at his lap as Lukas and Manu joked about the sister school and Lukas’ apparent straight-ness. It might have been Philipp’s imagination but Lukas’ previous statements had sounded forced, unnecessary - as if Lukas was trying to prove a point or hide something. For Bastian’s sake, Philipp wished that Lukas _was_ gay. Bastian looked over at Miro, and Philipp followed his gaze. The senior was sitting with Thomas and laughing about something, and he knew Bastian was jealous of what they had, of what any couple had.

Lukas was now telling a story of some girl he’d hooked up with at a party a few days ago and Philipp could visibly see Bastian’s jaw clench and his hands ball into fists.

He knew it was incredibly hard for him, but it just didn’t seem like there was any way to fix his problems.

…

Mats was not the most reliable for punctuality. He’d completely lost track of time that afternoon and forgotten he was supposed to be meeting Benni for a movie. He finally turned up at the mall a good half an hour late.

Benni was wearing skinny jeans that made his legs look amazing in Mats’ opinion. He had his arms crossed and his hip cocked, his eyes rolled as Mats stepped next to him. “You are twenty seven minutes late,” Benni said, hitting Mats with his wallet. “And it is _cold_.”

Mats tried to look ashamed, but knew Benni wasn’t properly mad at him. He grabbed his boyfriend’s hand and gave him a peck on the lips, letting out a chuckle when he felt Benni smile.  
 “Sorry,” Mats grinned. “My shout, yeah?”

  “Fucking better be,” Benni growled, but looped his arm around Mats’ waist, muttering something about how he put up with such an unreliable boyfriend and he was waiting _twenty seven minutes Mats, twenty seven minutes._

Mats just smiled. He liked it when Benni would call him his boyfriend. He didn’t know why it gave him so much satisfaction but it did. Maybe it was just the ever-increasing confidence that Benni seemed to be getting. Cheekily, he pecked another kiss to Benni’s cheek as they walked and the boy blushed and tightened his grip on Mats’ waist.

They didn’t spend much of the movie actually watching, and Mats remembered Benni’s disapproval when Miro and Thomas had spent so much time making out the last time they’d been to the cinema. The boy who had his hand creeping up Mats’ leg and was kissing back without restraint was very different.

“If your hand goes any further I’ll have to go to the bathroom to sort myself out,” Mats murmured, very conscious of the fact that Benni’s fingers were tracing circles on his upper thigh.

“I could do that for you,” Benni whispered.

“You are not giving your first hand job in a crowded movie theatre,” Mats hissed, laughing a little. He pushed Benni’s hand away, because it honestly was getting him hornier than a hand on his jeans should, and kissed Benni’s neck instead. He heard a little moan escape the boy’s mouth and giggled into the crook of his neck. “Shush. Can I give you a hickey?” He kissed the soft skin of Benni’s neck gently.

“Please,” Benni sounded a little desperate for it and it was the hottest thing Mats had heard come out of the boy’s mouth. He sucked a mark onto his boyfriend’s neck, relishing Benni’s breathy little panting noises and the feel of his fingers in his hair.

They left the cinema hand in hand and got takeaways from the sushi place, then sat in Mats’ car together for a while, eating and talking, and that lead to kissing, and Benni trying once more to get his hand down Mats’ pants but the footballer laughed and pushed him away. “Not here either, baby.”

He kissed the pout off Benni’s face and drove him home.

…

“Benedikt! You’re going to be late!” His mother’s yell from downstairs pierced the veil of sleep. Benni groaned, and shut his eyes tight. He was exhausted. “Benedikt! Hurry up!” It came again, and Benni sighed as he heard the footsteps on the staircase.

“Benedikt, up!” The door flew open and his mother wrenched the blankets off him and he rolled onto his side, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

She was staring at him, and suddenly he realised that the hickey Mats had given him was peeking out from the collar of his pyjama shirt. He raised a hand to it, and it felt tender to touch.   
“Benedikt.” And he knew that this was it. She did not actively address the mark on his neck, but her eyes were trained to it, knowing full well what it was. “Where were you last night?”

Benni tried to keep his voice steady. He took a breath. “With Mats.”

He saw realisation begin to dawn on his mother’s face. “The same Mats who you’ve been texting?”

“Y-yes.”

It was silent. He knew that she knew, and he still couldn’t say the words. He didn’t dare look at her.

Finally, she spoke. “Why, Benedikt?”

“It’s the way I am, Mum,” Benni choked out. He was fighting back tears, and hated himself for it.

“That’s not how I raised you.”

“That couldn’t have changed it. It’s who I am.”

She didn’t say anything. He could not decipher what she was feeling.

“I’m gay, Mum.”

She just looked at him.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it but it’s who I am and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy. I’m in a relationship and I’m happy, and it just happens that he’s a boy. But it’s the way I am and I can’t change that.” He swallowed. “And neither can you.”

“Well then you are no son of mine.”

And with that she got up and walked out of his room.

Benni watched the door shut behind her. There was no anger, no slam of the door, no punishment, but this seemed a whole lot worse. He was shaking as he fell back on to his bed, the tears welling in his eyes but he choked them back, determined not to cry.

_You are no son of mine._ The words echoed in his head, reverberating, slowly sinking in what she had said.

But at the same time he felt a lightness, a relief that could only be caused by getting this off his chest and it felt good. It felt so good to get it all out in the open.

He made his way downstairs very hesitantly about ten minutes later.

His mother was cleaning up the kitchen when he arrived. Sam was sitting at the table, doing some homework, a plate of toast next to him. But, where the cereal boxes and toast plate usually sat on the table, prepared by their mother for them, there was merely an empty table. He headed to the cupboard and retrieved the cereal, then made his own breakfast. The box was finished and so he went to chuck it in the bin, and saw three slices of perfectly good toast in the bin before him.

He stalled, looking at the pieces of toast and realising what it meant. His mother had her back to him. “Mama?” he tried, and there was no reply.

It was like a slap in the face, the silence. So this was the way it was to be, thought Benni.

He let the bin shut, and made his lunch, like he would always do. She stayed well away from him, and still had not said a word to him.

“Sam, time to go,” she handed his little brother his coat, and despite knowing full well Benni was standing right there, she said “You can go find your brother and tell him he’s old enough to make his own way to school now.”

Sam turned around and stared wide eyed at Benni, who just shook his head mutely. “Just go, Sam.” His mother was already out the door. “I told her. Just go.” Sam ran and gave Benni a tight hug. Benni patted his little brother’s head with shaking hands. “Go, Sam,” Benni whispered.

Sam did as he said, and Benni fell into one of the kitchen chairs. It was too late now to walk, he had just under ten minutes and the walk took over twenty. But his mother would be long gone and was not likely to come back. He picked up his bag, and began to walk.

He got to school fifteen minutes late, and accepted the detention without dispute. It was like he was in shock. Out of all the reactions his mother could have had, this was definitely not the one he had expected. He made his way to Calculus, and when he opened the door, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He was never late.

“Hi,” he said to Mats as he fell into his seat, and he could hear his voice stutter.

“Are you okay?” his boyfriend said, evidently worried. Benni just shook his head mutely.

“Benni - ”

And Benni crumpled. The class turned around and stared at him in shock as he sobbed silently into his hands. “Benedikt, are you alright?” Bierhoff had stopped teaching and was concerned.

“Of course he’s not alright,” Thomas exclaimed, leaping to his feet and hurrying to Benni’s desk. Mats had his arm around his boyfriend, rubbing his back and looking distressed. “Come on, let’s get him outside,” Thomas told him and together they lifted Benni up and escorted him out.

“Benni, shush, shush, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Mats wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, letting Benni cry into his shirt.

Thomas stood next to them, his brows furrowed, a hand on Benni’s arm.

When they’d calmed him down a bit they all sat down on the ground. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Benni just shook his head. He’d stopped crying now.

“Did your mum do something?”

Benni swallowed. “Well…”

“Benni….”

“She saw the hickey and I told her I was with you. I told her I was gay and that I couldn’t change it and she told me…” He trailed off.

“She told you what Benni?”

“She said… She said ‘you are no son of mine.’ And then she hasn’t spoken a word to me since. I was standing right there and she told Sam to tell me I could make my own way to school, as if she couldn’t see me or something, or she just didn’t c-care.” His lip trembled dangerously and Mats wrapped his arms around him once more. Thomas had his hand on Benni’s knee and was rubbing it comfortingly. He was getting shaky again, and was determined not to cry.

They all sat there for a time. Benni stared off into space, while Mats held him, and Thomas tried to give words of encouragement. The bell eventually rang and he dragged a hand across his eyes. “We have class,” he said weakly.

“What do you want to do? Do you want to go to Music or not? We could go to mine or something? You don’t really look in a good state to be at school.”

“I can’t miss class - ”

“God dammit Benni, for once in your life don’t obey the rules,” Thomas exclaimed, exasperated, coaxing a little chuckle from Benni.

“Can we go to yours?” He asked Mats, and the footballer nodded.

“We’re gonna have to go now,” Mats replied. “Come on, up you get.”

They all got to their feet and Thomas gave Benni another hug. “I’m always just a text away if you need to talk okay?” Benni nodded. “Although I think this one’s got it covered.” Mats just smiled.

Thomas said his goodbyes and headed off in the direction of his next class. Mats reached for Benni’s hand and walked him to the carpark. They drove to Mats’, and the footballer made them toasted sandwiches and hot chocolates and they headed up to his’ bedroom.

“This is the first time I’ve ever skipped a class,” Benni told him. Mats had his arm around him, tucking him into his side, and Benni’s plate was rested on Mats’ chest.

“Your goody two shoed-ness never ceases to amaze me,” Mats laughed, dropping a kiss into his hair.

“I don’t think I would have managed to be at school.”

Mats picked up their empty plates and put them on the bedside table, then drew Benedikt closer to him. “Your mum is an absolute idiot for not realising that she has an amazing son.”

“I don’t know if it’s better or not this way. She’s always been… unsupportive, so it’s not really any different.”

“Is it better now that you have told her though? That you’re not lying anymore?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“But it’s just the reaction.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared I’m going to go home and she just won’t talk to me ever again. And I d-don’t want that.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mats hugged him tight. “She’ll come round. It might take a while, but she will. And in the meantime, you’ve got your friends to make a family for you.” Mats chuckled. “And you’ve got me of course. You’ve always got me, and you’re always welcome here.”

Benni kissed him quickly. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Any time, baby.”

They ended up falling asleep together, despite the time of day, the sun shining through the window and making their eyes droop. When Eva returned home for lunch and walked upstairs to say hello, she found the two fast asleep, Benni pulled close to Mats’ side, their hands joined. She smiled, and left them alone.

…

The absence of the couple was felt throughout both groups that day. Mesut and the other music boys were all a bit shocked at what had happened, the way Benni had completely broken down. A lot of the football boys did not know due to them being in the year above, but Mats’ absence was instantly noticed.

“Where’s Mats?” Philipp asked, taking his seat.

“At home with Benni,” Manuel replied sombrely. “He had a break down in first period. Mesut said it was something to do with him coming out to his mum.”

“Shit,” breathed Philipp, then he turned to Bastian. “I need to go to the bathroom. Come with?”

Bastian stared at him, confused, not understanding that Philipp wanted to talk to him. “Why would I come - ”

“Come on, Basti,” Philipp got to his feet. Bastian followed in a hurry.

“What was that about?” He hissed when they had rounded a corner and were out of earshot.   “Manuel talking about coming out reminded me. Lukas is figuring it out. He knows something is up with you and that it’s just around him. He won’t stop pestering me. I can’t keep lying forever. Are you going to tell him?” 

“No! Fuck no, Fips, he’d kill me. It would ruin everything.” 

“Well it looks like it’s killing you being around him and lying to him.”

“Well I’ll just have to live with it.”

Philipp looked at him carefully, then said “God damnit, Basti, please just tell him. Get it over and done with or you’ll spend your entire life pining after him, and that is not the way you want to go.”

Bastian stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked the ground. A frown graced his usually smiley features. “I can’t, Fips. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to get the words out.”

“Just do something about it. Get over him if you can’t tell him.”

“You know I can’t just get over him.”

“Jesus Bastian, just try.”

Bastian kicked the ground again. Philipp was right; this really was killing him.

…

Marco was in the kitchen making his dinner when he caught sight of Erik next door, mowing the lawn outside the house. He was bare chested and dripping with sweat. For some reason, Marco couldn’t take his eyes off him.

He’d seen Erik naked when they were younger, for god’s sake. He should not have been this distracted by the mere sight of him shirtless. But ever since the confession, nothing was the same.

He had truly had no idea that _that_ had been the source of Erik’s behaviour. He’d conjured up so many different possibilities as to what it could be, but he’d never even thought to _consider_ that the younger boy had a crush on him. Erik just wasn’t like that with people he liked. Looking back now, he realised he didn’t actually know what Erik was like around people he liked, as he hadn’t had a relationship since middle school, and that didn’t even count. Marco gulped as he then realised that this probably meant that Erik had liked him for a very long time.

And Marco had put him through hell.

But then again, Erik had never done anything to show Marco his real feelings. He’d been more than understanding with the entire Mario situation. In fact, he had supported it, encouraged Marco, given him advice. Marco ran a hand through his hair. He had had no idea.

He watched Erik. The younger boy had always been attractive. Marco had always been a little jealous of the golden skin and his easy, smiley face, and the hair that seemed to look good no matter what he did with it. Marco was pale, and hated it, and had to go through an arduous styling process each morning in order to get his hair looking moderately okay. There had been jealousy, but Marco had never even thought to like Erik like _that_.

Marco had thought their had been a boundary that they couldn’t break. They were best friends. Why ruin that with anything else? He hadn’t even considered it. Erik, it turned out, evidently had.

Watching the boy now, suddenly thousands of ideas flooded his mind. What would it be like had Erik told him? Would Marco be dating him now instead of Mario? Did he like Erik like that? The doubting he was suffering was not a good sign.

His heart hurt. He knew deep down he really liked Mario, and he enjoyed their relationship a lot. But Erik was Erik. Erik had been there for him through thick and thin. But did that make him a best friend, or something more?

Marco rubbed his eyes and tore them away from Erik. Why did this have to be so hard?

…

Thomas’ phone went off right in the middle of class, full volume, causing everyone to look around at him and laugh, and Mr Mendoza their economics teacher to look rather exasperated. “Sorry, sir, can I take this?” Thomas said quickly - it was Xabi, why would Xabi be calling him in class?

“Fine, just go outside,” Mendoza sighed, and continued teaching as Thomas headed out the door.

“Hello?”

“Thomas? Miro just got a call from someone and it didn’t look good - he’s gone somewhere, I don’t know, he just left without any explanation, but yeah, I thought I’d let you know. Do you have any idea what’s wrong?”

Thomas felt worried and frowned. “Nothing’s wrong. Miro was fine this morning.”  

“I presume he got some bad news or something, he just up and left, all his stuff is still here and he hasn’t come back for ten minutes.”

“I’m coming now okay, I’ll come get his stuff and go find him.”

“Okay, we’re in B2.”

“See you in a sec.”

Thomas hurried back into the class, grabbed his own belongings and told a rather unimpressed Mendoza that it was a ‘family emergency’ and shot in the direction of Miro’s classroom.

Xabi was standing outside, looking anxious and holding Miro’s satchel.

“Any idea where he went?”

“Carpark’s just outside, so there maybe?”  

“Okay,” Thomas took his boyfriend’s satchel, and headed in the direction of the carpark.

Fortunately Xabi had been correct. Unfortunately Miroslav was sitting in his car, tears sliding down his cheeks and falling onto his lap. He was on the phone to someone, and looked more vulnerable than Thomas had ever seen him. There was no trace of the usual collectiveness and maturity he held. Instead, he looked broken, far younger than his 18 years, younger than Thomas, like a child. Thomas opened the car door tentatively and slid into the passenger seat.

“O-okay,” Miro cried into the phone. “I’m going h-home now, s-so I’ll b-be there … I love you t-too … Y-yep. O-okay.” He hung up and stared at his lap, his shoulders stuttering as he cried.

“Miro,” Thomas said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I w-was just about to call y-you,” Miroslav stammered, his voice clogged with tears. “My dad’s in h-hospital. Mum didn’t say anyth-th-thing more on the ph-phone but apparently it’s s-s-serious.”

Thomas leaned over and drew his boyfriend into his arms. He heard Miro sigh shakily. They stayed like that, Thomas rubbing Miroslav’s back for a good few minutes and he heard Miroslav’s tears slowly fade away.

When they broke apart, Miro drew a hand across his eyes, frustration evident. “I don’t even kno-o-ow why I’m c-c-crying.” His voice was all shaky still.

“Your dad’s in hospital,” Thomas said, trying to be gentle but it was hard, so hard. “It’s okay to cry,” he whispered stroking Miro’s tear stained cheek.

He just sniffled, and wiped his eyes. “Fuck.”

“What did your mum say?” Thomas asked tentatively.

“She called me in class, and she kept calling me so I picked up - it was with Jogi and he wasn’t really teaching so I just picked up and she was crying and she told me dad had an emergency on his conference and that he’s in hospital. She’s going to c-call me later and… update.”

“So you’re going home?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Do you want me to come or anything?”

“I uh - no uh I’ll be fine. I just need to… I need to be alone.”

“I’m right here if you need me, okay? Call or text or anything and I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”  

“I love you.”

Miro just began to cry some more and Thomas quickly realised that those words had triggered something and hurriedly hugged Miro again, letting his boyfriend’s tears soak a patch onto his blazer. He stroked through Miro’s hair, and felt himself start to panic a bit. He had no idea what he was doing. He’d never imagined that he’d have to be doing this with Miro, especially not when everything had seemed so perfect barely a couple of days ago.

“You should get back to class.” Miro said eventually.

“It’s okay I can - ”

“I’ll call you later.” He looked so broken and Thomas felt helpless. He didn’t know what to do.

He leaned in and pecked Miro on the cheek then got out of the car. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?”

Miro just nodded. Thomas shut the door of the car, stepped back and watched his boyfriend drive away.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months, not bad. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait. I'm a bad person.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, it would mean the world to me, any comment, kudos, subscription, please it is the only thing motivating me to keep writing and churning these mammoth chapters out! 
> 
> My final end of year exams start tomorrow. Argh. I'll hopefully see you soon with another chapter. Comments are the air I breathe.
> 
> Love you all. 
> 
> \- C


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There is self harm in this chapter. It is the second mini 'part' of the chapter (after the first ...)  
> I'm sorry if this is triggering for you, please do not read if it is!

It all started with a tiny mistake. A tiny mistake on the football field where Bastian put a ball that should have been easily controlled out of play. It was raining hard, and they were down 1-0.

“For fuck’s sake,” Lukas, who had been running behind him tracking, giving him an option to pass to, said very loudly and very easily heard by both Bastian and the majority of the stand closest to them. Bastian whipped around and yelled “What the fuck did you just say?”

He was all up in Lukas’ face, and most of the team were rendered stationary from shock at the sight of the two best friends fighting. Philipp was the first to react, and managed to pull Bastian away, while Per ran half the field to grab Lukas and drag him away. The referee gave them both a yellow card, and luckily did not hear the string of expletives that came from Bastian’s mouth as Philipp dragged him away.

The remainder of the first half was atrocious. Jogi was yelling himself hoarse on the sidelines, and Manuel was having to make world class saves every minute as the opposition got through time and time again. Finally the whistle sounded for half time and the boys trailed into the dressing rooms.

Philipp yanked on Bastian’s shirt and held him back, just outside the locker room. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, pushing Bastian back against the wall.

The blonde just shrugged, not meeting Philipp’s gaze. The rest of the boys were trailing past looking dejected, but when Lukas walked by both Bastian and Philipp heard the snigger from the boy’s mouth.

Philipp couldn’t hold Bastian back this time, and the midfielder let out a snarl and leapt after Lukas, who had scurried into the changing room.

“BASTIAN!” Philipp shouted, but it was too late, and Bastian had pulled Lukas around and swung his fist.

Lukas staggered backwards - the punch had only glanced the side of his face but it still hurt like a bitch. He pushed Bastian back and spat in his face, then gave him a kick in the balls, his studded football boot still on.

Bastian doubled over in pain, then ran with all his might at Lukas, pushing him over into the wall. Lukas’ hands were whirling, slamming his fists on Bastian’s back, and it was only then that Jogi managed to wrench Bastian away, and Xabi had to jump on Lukas to restrain him.

Philipp and Per took over from Jogi and pulled Bastian’s arms behind his back. The midfielder had tears in his eyes.

“Honestly what in the world do you two think you’re doing?” Jogi shouted. “You are acting like immature little boys in a school yard. You’re 17, and that display on the pitch was frankly embarrassing. You let the entire team down, and though we haven’t had the best of halves in the world, you two couldn’t stay level headed. We could have had chances in that last ten minutes but you two ruined that with your appalling display. How are we supposed to win the league if our own players are fighting each other?” He eyeballed the two friends, then let out a sigh. “Bastian, I’m subbing you off.”

Bastian looked outraged. “But Jogi he started - ”

“Shut your bloody mouth, Schweinsteiger, or you’ll be benched for the next month.” Bastian fell quiet. “Don’t look so smug, Podolski, put another toe out of line and you’ll be off too. Mesut, you’re going on. Change to 4-1-4-1 with Xabi by himself in front of the back line. Thomas move out further on the right wing, Lukas you play left. Mesut, you’ll be in behind Robert with Mario. Defence, pick up your game. Put some effort into your tackles, for Christ’s sake, they’re not made of porcelain. Manuel, you’re doing a sterling job out there, you’re all damn lucky we have Neuer or we’d be 10-0 down. It’s like they’re playing 11 against 1 and Manuel is the 1 and you’re all just on an evening stroll. Now grow up, sort yourselves out, pick up your game and go score me some god damn goals.”

The “Weisburg on 3” chant was less than halfhearted. It was still raining outside. Bastian took his seat on the bench, a scowl on his face. Jogi looked equally displeased, stalking back and forth on the touch line, his hair sodden, his face passive.  
 Lukas was all over the show. He was making dirty tackles left, right and centre, and Jogi was talking to Sami on the bench deliberating his options and whether or not to take him off, when Lukas performed a rather magnificent, but also rather dangerous slide tackle on an opposition striker in the box.

“Shit.” Jogi wasn’t one to swear, but it was the only word uttered in the dug outs as the opposition player went down, clutching his ankle, his face distorted in pain.

The referee was on Lukas’ case in an instant, and it was almost like Lukas knew his fate as the ref reached for his pocket. Boos rang around the stadium from the opposition supporters; it was certainly not a dive and the player was needing medical treatment.

The red card was shown, and Lukas began the walk to the tunnels.

The penalty given was converted with ease, no matter how imposing Manuel was in goal. And they were 2-0 down with 10 men.

Jogi was livid. The bench had their heads in their hands.

Bastian didn’t know what to think.

But then Mario equalised. It was a stroke of luck really. Not many of them saw him and Mesut exchanging words before the kick off, but they did see the striker tear down the pitch, controlling Mesut’s long ball with a deft touch and volleying it past the keeper.

Jogi punched the air, but didn’t crack a smile.

2-1 and their spirits were raised, just slightly. They started to play football. Their possession increased, and by the last ten minutes, they were in control. The goal wasn’t coming though.

It ended up going to extra time and many Weisburg students would be going home thanking the heavens for Mesut Özil.

A neat ball from Philipp sent Thomas sprinting up the right wing, well ahead of the defender. Mesut was there to meet his rather sublime cross, and headed the ball like a bullet into the net.

It turned out to be the final act of the game, and the referee blew his whistle. The boys celebrated like they’d won the league, dog piling the young boy. The opposition looked rather stunned they’d thrown away such a lead to a team with 10 men.

They headed to the tunnels in much brighter spirits. A draw was far better than no points at all. They could hear the sound of a shower, presumably Lukas, but no one dared venture in there, for Jogi would have words to say.

That he did. “You’re all damn lucky to come away with a point today,” he said. “I must say, apart from the slight obstacle, it was a very good second half, and you should be proud of yourselves for making such a comeback. If we’d had another ten minutes we probably could have won that game, but we didn’t. And it just shows us that we can’t waste a half like that. That should have been a comfortable win and I know there were complications - ” Jogi did not refrain from glancing at Bastian, “ - but you should have put that one to bed in the first half. Man of the match is Manuel, for saving our asses.” That got a few laughs, but Jogi did not seem to be in a laughing mood. “And also congratulations to Mesut for playing the half of his life.” Xabi clapped his friend on the back, and Mesut smiled.

“Go hit the showers, and someone send Lukas in here when he’s out.” Jogi waved them away, and they traipsed towards the showers.

…

Erik had thought he’d be safe going to a football game, but he’d evidently forgotten that public displays of affection after scoring goals were common with the Weisburg goals. He sat with André, some rows above Marco and Benni, but he did not miss the way that Mario ran to Marco after his goal and gave him a kiss, while he sat there silently hating the cheering of the crowds.

He got home and felt a surge of self hatred. That could have been him, had he not fucked it all up. That should have been him, that could have easily been him, and he was an idiot.

The reflection in the mirror looked ugly. Erik hated it. He’d always hated how long his face was, and he realised now how gaunt he looked.

He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white, then slammed his hand into the wall. It hurt like hell as Erik scraped his knuckles across it. When he pulled them away, he saw peeling skin and beads of blood, but it felt good. The pain felt good. He rolled his sleeve up and drew his nails down the skin of his left arm, over and over again, until he drew blood, and watched the scratches redden in the bright light of the bathroom. Tears splashed down onto his skin, sinking into the marks and making them sting.

But the pain felt good.

He fell into bed, gasping for air, his tears clogging his throat, and spoke in a whisper into the darkness of his room.

“You are worthless.”

He raked his nails down his right arm.

“Nobody loves you.”

He repeated.

“Nobody gives a sh-shit about you.”

Scratch.

“Why would Marco ever love you?”

Scratch. His voice stuttered dangerously.

“Why do you even t-try anym-more?” His voice broke, the sobs building up and overflowing, and he yanked his sleeves down, curled up into a ball and cried himself to sleep.

…

The tension at school had risen exponentially. The leaders of their year, Bastian and Lukas were now full blown ignoring each other’s existence, and the rest of the boys were struggling to fix the catastrophe that was everyday class.

The two boys usually sat next to each other in every class, and when they all turned up for school on Monday the footballers had to quickly work out who to swap with.

It just so happened that Lukas managed to get to the group first at lunchtime, and so when Bastian arrived, one awkward second of eye contact with Lukas and the blond just turned away and sat by himself at another table. Philipp rolled his eyes and with a huff, picked up his bag and went to sit with his friend. Miro followed, as did Manuel, who was followed by Robert.

“You don’t have to,” Bastian said quietly, looking up from his lunch as the four sat down. He looked quite upset.

“Oh shut up,” Philipp replied, kicking him under the table. “We’re not gonna make you sit all by yourself just because he’s over there.”

“I don’t want to divide the group.”

“Well unless you and Lukas sort yourselves out, that’s what’s going to be happening,” Manuel pointed out.

“He’s the one with the problem with me. I have no issue with him.”

Philipp raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t,” Bastian said through gritted teeth.

Thomas wandered over and sat next to Miro, looping his arm around his boyfriend’s chair. “Why are you all sitting over here?”

Manuel made a violent cut throat movement while Philipp’s eyebrows moved further towards his hairline. Bastian was staring determinedly at his food.

Miroslav sighed. “C’mon Tommy, we’ll head somewhere else, okay?”

“But - ”

“Just come, Thomas,” the senior sounded tired, and they all knew it. He gave Bastian a pat on the back, but it was probably he who needed it more and dragged Thomas away.

“See? I’m just dividing everyone.”

“Well would you rather you just went and sat down with him like nothing was wrong? Could you do that?”

“No,” Bastian said dejectedly.

“There we go then.”

“I’ll go to the library or something - ”

“Do you even know where that place is?” Manuel smirked.

 “Just sit, Bastian,” Philipp’s word was final. “Sit and eat your bloody lunch.”   
…

“Why are they all over there?” Xabi, of course, had no idea about what had gone on that morning and cut through the tension in the air like his words were a blunt knife. Everyone winced. Lukas glowered at the floor.

“Way to put your foot in it, Xab,” Per sighed, unable to stop a laugh.

“What?”

Per pulled him away to explain.

“Are you two going to sort your shit out?” Mats said, as blunt as ever.

“He can come tell me why he decided to punch me.”

“I think he punched you because you laughed at him, Lukas,” Sami was the voice of reason.

“It was a joke - ”

“We were all there. It was not a joke. Jokes don’t make you punch people.”

Lukas sulked.

Per returned with an enlightened Xabi Alonso. “To be honest, Lukas, you’re just fuelling the whole old married couple thing,” the defender pointed out.  “How is Bastian trying to punch me fuelling that?”

“I don’t know, you’re having some relationship difficulties?”

“Fuck off, Mertesacker.”

Unbeknownst to any of them, it was in fact relationship difficulties, on Bastian’s part anyway.

“Well anyway, I’m not going to apologise until he does,” Lukas said to no one in particular. Everyone else seemed to be more focused on their lunch rather than the striker’s attempts to defend himself.

They all saw him steal a nervous look over at Bastian, then pretended they didn’t.

…

Thomas went over after school and tried to provide Miro with a distraction. They watched TV together and cuddled on the couch like they normally would, but Miro was distinctively quiet. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile, and they were watching a funny show.

They talked for a while, mainly about Benni and his mother. Thomas knew he’d missed the application date for one of the universities, but didn’t bring it up. Then Miro kissed him.

But when things heated up and Thomas tried to unbutton Miro’s pants the senior suddenly pushed him away, muttering “I’m not in the mood.” He shuffled away from Thomas and stared into space.

Thomas was left bewildered, half hard in his trousers and panting. Never before had Miro said no to him.

“What - ”

“I’m just not in the mood, okay?” Miro snapped, and Thomas shrunk back.

“I - I’m sorry,” Thomas stammered.

Miro didn’t reply.

Thomas got to his feet. He had no idea what to do, he was scared that if he tried to reach out and touch Miro or comfort him in any way he would just make things worse.

“I just - my dad’s in hospital and I’m kissing you like it even doesn’t matter, like I don’t even give a shit!”

Silence hung in the air, Miro on the couch, Thomas hovering, unsure of what to do. And then a switch seemed to click inside Miro because he suddenly ran a hand through his hair and swung his head round to look at Thomas guiltily.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas said softly. He sank back down on the couch and put his hand on Miro’s knee. “It’s okay.”

Miro leant against him, his head on Thomas’ shoulder. “I’m so sorry for being like this,” Miroslav whispered. He sounded broken, the guilt evident in his voice.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Thomas reached up and stroked his hair. “It’s okay.”

They sat like that, in silence, Thomas stroking his fingers through Miro’s hair. His other hand found it’s way to Miro’s, and Thomas gripped it tight. “It’s okay,” he kept repeating, for it was the only thing he knew to say. Everything was so different now; before it had been Miro looking after Thomas, treating him, showing him a good time and truly embodying his role as the older one in their relationship. Now Thomas was forced to be things he had no idea how to be.

“I’m scared Tom,” Miro eventually whispered. His voice shook dangerously.

Thomas had no idea what to say and hated himself for it. He couldn’t say that it was going to be okay, because he had no idea if it was or not, and now his only line of comfort was rendered inadequate. Miroslav was pouring his heart out to Thomas, and Thomas saw him at his worse, yet he still had no clue what to say to make Miro feel better. But then, he couldn’t tell Miro that.

Anyone could have done a better job than him, he thought.

It had been silent between them for some time now, and Thomas knew his reply was long overdue.

“Have you heard from your mum?” He asked.

“This morning. He’s going in for tests once they’ve removed the ulcer from his stomach.”

“Okay.” It was silent again.

“I’m sorry,” Miroslav said after a little while.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“I just feel… I didn’t spend enough time with him.”

“That’s not your fault. He was always away.”

“But when he was here I didn’t make enough of an effort!” Miroslav cried. “What if he…. what if he d-dies Tom?”

Thomas didn’t know how to respond to that.

“What if he dies and he thought I didn’t make enough effort, and that he did want a third kid after all and I just fucked all that up by not being what he hoped for and now it’s too late!” He was getting panicky, his voice rising and quickening, and Thomas was scared he was failing to make things even moderately better. 

“Miro, Miro, honey, shush, shush, it’s okay, don’t think like that. You were the best son he could have asked for. Don’t say you didn’t make enough effort, because I know you, and I know you would have. You didn’t fuck anything up.”

Miroslav just looked at him hopelessly, his eyes glassy with tears. “That’s what it feels like though.”

“Come here,” Thomas said, and they lay back on the couch together, Thomas’ arms wrapped tight around him, one hand stroking his hair. “You are the best son anyone could ask for, okay? Never doubt yourself on that. Your dad loves you.”

“I was just the accident,” Miroslav choked out.

“You aren’t just the accident.”

“It feels like that.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say to that so he just gripped Miro tighter. He still felt an overwhelming sense that he wasn’t doing enough.

…

It had not improved at home for Benni. He was still receiving the silent treatment and was left to fend for himself in every way.

This came with its pros and its cons.

Mats had taken to picking him up in the morning, despite Benni’s protests, and driving him to school and back home. If he didn’t drive, Benni would walk out of his house to find his boyfriend waiting around a corner.

He was left to make his own meals, including dinner, and would never eat with Sam and his mother. Often he would take food up to his room after coming home from school.

But apart from having to do things for himself - which weren’t exactly the most challenging tasks in the world - being ignored by his mother had its upsides. He could go out whenever he wanted, which meant he could see Mats. There was no more lying, no more excuses, no more pretending, and at least something good had come out of the entire situation.

Nevertheless, it still hurt.

His mother would act as if he were not there. Should they happen to be in the same room together, his mother would just dismiss him entirely. Sam was trying with all his might to get their mother to come round, but both he and Benni knew they were fighting a losing battle.

There were nights where Benni would cry himself to sleep in sheer hatred for his life, hating the luck he had got, praying that things would change, wondering why he had to have been raised by someone so conservative.

Mats helped, but he didn’t even know the half of it. He wasn’t there to witness the treatment Benni suffered.

One day one of Sonja’s friends came round, and the two women were talking in the kitchen together when Benni arrived back home from school. She had made an attempt to converse with Benni, who had shuffled awkwardly and looked anywhere but his mother, but eventually responded.

And though he’d tried to finish the conversation quickly, the friend had asked his mother something about him and Sonja changed the subject in an instant.

Of course, her poor friend was rather confused and had persisted to ask. Benni had blushed, embarrassed and ashamed of the fact that this was actually happening, and scarpered up to his room.

Mats wasn’t there to see the way he shook with panic, from overthinking and during the lapses in control where he forgot to put on a brave face.

Mats wasn’t there to realise just how deeply the blowout had affected Benni. Only Benni knew what he was feeling. Only he knew the real extent of heartbreak he felt that his mother might as well have disowned him.

Benni wanted to tell him but it was hard, to reveal the things that he so very much avoided speaking about. He only told Mats the surface of the problem, and that in itself was bad enough.

His boyfriend would just worry, Benni told himself.

And so he let Mats believe that it wasn’t as bad as it really was. He didn’t tell anyone his real feelings, instead wrote them all down in a little journal, tucked under his pillow each night.

Mats didn’t know the half of it.

…

Philipp always did a walk around after practice and picked up all the cones, so Thomas headed out to help him.

“Hey Tom,” Philipp smiled as Thomas handed him a cone. “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“Why couldn’t it be that I just wanted to help my captain pick up the equipment?”

“Because I know you.”

“Touché.”

“So, what’s up?”

Thomas handed him another cone and sighed. “I’m worried about Miro.”

“Ah,” Philipp said. “I thought that might be it.”

“Yeah.”

“How is he?”

“Not good, you’ve seen him. He’s not himself. Anyway the reason I wanted to talk to you is I don’t know… I don’t know how to help him.”

Philipp made a humming noise and nodded. “I get you.”

“It’s just that I’m supposed to be the one helping him and being there for him and making it better but I feel like I’m not doing anything!”

“Miro is unfortunately fragile,” Philipp said pensively. “He’s never had anything bad happen to him. Not major things anyway. If something happens to his dad I have no idea how he’ll react.”

“I try to tell him it’s going to be okay but I have no way of knowing whether it will be or not! So then I just sound like an idiot and I should be the one comforting him but I can’t find the right words.”

Philipp nodded. “I get it. It’s hard when you don’t know what to say.”

“I just hug him and try to tell him it’s alright but I know how empty the words are because of course it’s not fucking alright. I’m useless at this kind of stuff.”

“You’re not useless,” Philipp frowned. “You’re there and that’s something. It’s hard with Miro. Like I said, nothing has ever happened like this.”

Thomas kicked at a cone and it flew a few metres a head of them. Philipp refrained from saying anything. “I never really realised until now but he’s so sheltered. I mean he acts - well not acts but - he’s so smart and wise and he just knows things you know? Like if it were him in my position he’d do a much better job. But anyway, he’s had it almost too easy. If anything else happens I’m scared he’ll… he might lose it.”

“Don’t do yourself down. Remember that whatever happens is not in your control. It’s not in his either. You’re doing a lot better than you think you are, considering his situation.”

“I’m shit.”

“You don’t realise it, but being around you makes it a lot easier for him. You’re a very able distraction.”

“It’s not enough,” Thomas sighed.

“There’s not much more any of us can do. Not until they find out what’s wrong. And knowing Miro’s luck, it will hopefully be fine.”

“But what if it’s not! Then what do I do?”

Philipp looked at him carefully. “That’s up to you, Thomas.” He bent down and picked the last cone up. “Keep your head up, yeah? If you’re down in the dumps too it won’t be much help to him.”

Thomas looked rather conflicted. “Okay.”

They returned to the locker rooms and Thomas watched his boyfriend unpick his laces with an uncharacteristic slowness. His eyes were lowered, a blank expression on his face. He didn’t look like the normal Miroslav, like Thomas’ Miroslav; he was far from it.

And it scared Thomas. A lot. More than he would have liked to admit.

The cheerlessness that seemed to exude from Miro in heavy waves was inescapable. It was so noticeable that Thomas worried that more people than necessary were taking interest in Miroslav’s private life. But when the senior didn’t even crack a smile, it was hard to look over.

Miroslav wasn’t the same, and if Thomas was honest, he was wary of the fact that this Miroslav was a product of merely the confusion surrounding his father’s circumstances. Should they worsen, Miro would follow suit, it seemed. But Thomas didn’t know what that would entail, only the feeling that he definitely wasn’t doing enough to help.

…

_6th March_

_17 days and she still hasn’t spoken to me. She keeps wasting food, today she threw half a roast chicken in the bin even though she knows it’s my favourite. She brought Sam back some chocolate from the supermarket and made a big show of giving it to him, acting like I wasn’t there but making sure I knew what she was trying to show._

_Then I was studying later today and she was playing the tv really loudly so I tried to ask her to turn it down and she didn’t say a word to me. She won’t even look at me, and when I turned it down she just turned it back up and didn’t say anything._

_I almost called Mats last night. The nights are getting hard. I can’t get to sleep without thinking for a good hour. Being alone with my thoughts is the worst part._

_I’m seeing him in a bit, we’re going to the park. Every time I see him I feel bad for not telling him everything but it’s probably for the best and even if I wanted to I probably couldn’t get the words out._

_He’s a good distraction though. He makes everything feel better._

_Maybe things will be okay tomorrow._

…

Mesut and Xabi were at the latter’s house, their books spread across the dining room table in an attempt at studying. While Mesut was diligently completing calculus questions, Xabi was less motivated, and had completed at least five Candy Crush levels.

“I can’t be bothered studying,” Xabi declared. “It’s too nice a day to be cooped up inside.” He shut his books and stood up. “Can we call it a day?”

“Did you even get anything done?” Mesut chuckled, shutting his own book.

“Hey, I wrote out a few definitions.”  

“Wow, that’s impressive Xab.”

“Shut up. Do you wanna go down to the park or something? I can’t stand being inside all the time.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Mama!” Xabi yelled in the direction of the lounge where his mother was. “Vamos al parque!”

“Okay, have fun!” Isabel’s voice sailed back.

Xabi decided they were going to have a picnic, so dashed around the kitchen for five minutes while Mesut sat in the corridor and put his shoes on.

“Ready?” Xabi said, smiling brightly and offering a hand out to Mesut. The younger boy took it and let Xabi pull him to his feet.

They walked down to the park. It was a beautiful day, and Mesut was glad that they had got out of the house. Studying needed breaks, and breaks with Xabi were the best type.

“So have you applied for all your universities?” Mesut asked.

“Yep, sorted that weeks ago.”

“Of course you did,” Mesut chuckled. “Thomas was telling me Miro hasn’t organised anything. I mean I suppose with his situation he’s not focusing on that, but still.”

“I reckon Miro wants to hang around here with Thomas, to be honest.”

“Yeah it looks like that.”  
 “He’s got enough money to do anything he wants.”

“Do you think they’ll stay together?”

“Yeah, for a little while at least. I mean, it will be hard, but they seem to be pretty in love with each other.”

“Mmm.”   They were silent for a little while then Mesut looked at him. “I’ll miss you next year.”

“I’ll come back and visit. Hopefully I’ll be in Heidelberg so I won’t be too far away. But I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss this.” He raked a hand through his hair, almost embarrassed again at how heartfelt he was getting. “I don’t feel ready to leave high school.”

“But university will be so fun!” 

Xabi sighed. “Hopefully.”

“XABI!” There was a yell from behind them, and they looked around to see Mats and Benni walking towards them. They were holding hands, and Benni looked happier than he had been in recent days. It was Mats who had yelled, and the footballer was grinning massively at them.

“Hey,” Xabi said, bumping fists with Mats.

“What are you guys up to?” Benni asked.

“This one couldn’t be bothered studying so he dragged me out here.”

“Excuse me!” Xabi turned to him in mock outrage. “You did not complain.”

Xabi noticed Benni and Mats share a look as Mesut blew him off.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Benni chuckled.

“See you kids at school!” Mats crowed.

They walked off, hand in hand.

“Now what about those two?” Xabi asked.

“Oh definitely. They’ll be together until at least the end of next year.”

Xabi lay down the rug and they sat down to eat. “Still can’t really believe they’re actually together.”

“Neither can I,” chuckled Mesut.

…

“Per, oh my god, you have to hear this, holy shit.” Mats fell into the seat next to Per at the table before school. He was breathless and looking very excitable.

“Do tell, Matthias.”

“My name is not short for Matthias.”

“Anyway, carry on.”

“Okay so Benni and I went on a date to the park, you know the one down near the stadium, the one that all the couples go to - ”

“Yep.”

“- okay so that one, and like everyone knows that couples go there right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, exactly, so anyway we were at the park and can you guess who we saw? Amongst all the other couples?”

“No, I can’t guess.”

“Come on, guess!”

“Mats.”

“Fine.” He paused for effect. “Mesut and Xabi.”

“Oh?” Per said, very interested now.

“Yep!” Mats was very proud of himself.

“We were on a date. A date. And we saw them. They were taking a walk together, they had a bloody picnic and everyone else around them were couples. I swear to God.”

“Now that is very, very interesting.”

“I. Know.”  

Mats continued to tell Per about his guesses about their two friends until the bell rang.

Later, Per began his own interrogation. They were in Economics, the class in which they sat next to each other.

“Heard you and Mes went to the park,” Per said, casually.

“Yeah, on the weekend,” Xabi said without looking up.

“Which park did you guys go to?”

“Oh, that one near my place. Down near the stadium.”

“You know that’s the place where all the couples go, right?”

Xabi looked up. “No?” Confusion was evident on his face.

“Really, Xab?”

“I didn’t know!”  

“Well he must have known.”

“He didn’t say anything!”

“So you went with Mesut on a date to the park where all the couples go -“ Per was laughing now.

“It wasn’t a date!”

“Seems very much like it was.”

“It. Was. Not. A. Date.”

“Do you like him, Xabs? Come on, just admit it.”

“Fuck off Per.”

“Is he even gay?”

“I thought so, I don’t know - why should it matter? I don’t like him like that.”

Per just grinned wolfishly.

“Excuse me, you’re the one who kissed their best friend at New Years.”

Per rolled his eyes. “I was off my face. Gotta show my love for Fipsy.”

“If I’d done that you would have been on my case.”

“Because you and Mesut are different.”

“Mes and I are best friends. Nothing more.”

“Stop denying it.” 

“I’m not fucking denying it! I don’t like him like that! I swear to god!”

His voice had risen a lot, and the teacher looked over. “Alonso, shut it.”

Per laughed out loud.

Xabi didn’t talk to him for the rest of the day.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather short chapter by my standards but I'm heading off to England tonight so I'd thought I'd get it posted! Hope you guys all like it, let me know what you think!
> 
> All comments, kudos and subscriptions are greatly appreciated, they make this whole writing thing so much easier :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I love you all.
> 
> \- C


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas can't stop things slipping out of his control, a bond is rekindled and Xabi falls. Hard.

“It’s been nearly three weeks and she still hasn’t said a word to me.” They were in Mats’ car, the footballer dropping Benni home as usual.

Mats swerved suddenly, pulled the car over and looked at him, the engine humming in the background. “I thought you said it was getting better?”

Benni just shrugged, twisting his hands in his lap, not meeting Mats’ eyes.

“Babe, look at me.”

He looked up, and his heart skipped a beat at the concern showing on his boyfriend’s face.

“You don’t have to go home. You can come to mine if you like, stay for dinner, stay the night if you want.”

“But your mum - ”

“Will be over the moon to have you. She thinks you’re a wonderful influence on me.”

Benni tried not to laugh. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“You’re never a nuisance.”

“I - are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Can you ask your mum anyway if I can stay, I just feel like I’m intruding or something.”

“It’s fine, but I will.”

Mats reached and took his hand, drew it to his lips and kissed it softly. “It’s going to be okay, okay?”

Benni nodded.

They were greeted by a very enthusiastic Eva when they arrived at Mats’. Benni gave Mats a pointed look and he asked her if Benni could stay the night, to which Benni protested, for he didn’t want to be that much of a burden, just dinner would be okay. Eva would ask continuously if he did want to stay, but he promised her dinner would be just fine.

They went up to Mats’ room and lay together on his bed. The footballer was flat on his back, while Benni was tucked into his side, his fingers drawing patterns on Mats’ chest. He’d been humming a piece he was learning at the moment at Mats’ request but he’d long since forgotten where he was and fell silent.

“What are you thinking about?” Benni asked, reaching over and tilting Mats’ face towards his.

Mats smiled at him and shrugged a shoulder.

“You looked like you were thinking hard about something. Your face was all scrunched up.”

Mats let out a little sigh. Soft fingers carded through Benni’s hair, stroking it off his face. “Are you sure you still want to live there when she’s treating you like that?”

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Live with me.”

“You _know_ I won’t do that.”

“Find a flat then.”

“There’s no way in hell I could afford that. I’m unemployed, she feeds me, clothes me, pays for everything.”

“Live with me then.”

Benni rolled his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you for staying strong but you don’t deserve to have to put up with her shit,” Mats said. “And you need to tell me when things are bad, okay? Because it’s no good for me if I don’t know what’s happening.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, baby, it’s okay, I just want you to be alright.”

Benni nodded. “Thank you.”

“If she ever lays a finger on you I’ll kill her.”

“It’s fine, Matsi.”

Mats grinned at him. “Did you just call me Matsi?”

Benni blushed and nodded. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Your blush is the cutest thing ever,” Mats said, and kissed him on the lips. “Of course it’s okay, silly.”

“Good,” Benni chuckled. He hoisted himself up and swung a leg over Mats so he was straddling his boyfriend then ducked his head to kiss him softly.

“Mm, again,” Mats reached up and pulled Benni down to kiss him once more. His hands then wandered down the planes of Benni’s back and got a feel of his ass. This spurred Benni on and he deepened the kiss, licking into Mats’ mouth, and trying not to smile when he felt the footballer respond in kind. Each time they were physical they would go a little further, and Benni found himself wanting more and more each time. However Mats seemed to want to take it slow. It frustrated Benni, but also made him appreciate just how much Mats seemed to care about him and their relationship.

Benni sat back and unbuttoned his shirt, then made quick work of Mats’. His boyfriend was showing no intention of stopping this time, and Benni felt his hands run up and down the skin of his chest, ghosting over his nipples, making those school trousers start to get tight. Mats turned them over, taking dominance now and kissing Benni fiercely, their teeth clashing. Their hands were going everywhere and Benni didn’t care; he wanted to go further.

His hands went south, and slid into the back pocket of Mats’ trousers, squeezing his bum, and he felt delighted as Mats made to grind down on him. Mats moved his kissed to Benni’s throat, where the light bruising of the hickey was still slightly visible and kissed it lightly.

Benni let out a moan and moved his hands further.

“Stop trying to unbutton my pants,” Mats murmured, chuckling into Benni’s neck and halting his kissing.  
 “I wasn’t trying to,” Benni protested weakly but Mats just laughed and rolled off him. Benni’s head fell back onto the pillows and he let out a sigh.

“You’re very eager. I never expected that from you.”

“Thanks,” Benni pouted.

“You seem too innocent.”

“Well I am innocent.”

“You want to get into my pants.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re so cute. I live for that blush.”

“I hate you.”

“We’ve got time, okay?” Mats slung an arm over his waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We’ve got all the time in the world to do that stuff.”

“I know,” Benni said. “Thank you for taking it slow. I - I’m really lucky to have you, and I’m… I’m really thankful. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“Thank you.”  
 “You know,” Mats said, a coy smile sneaking onto his lips. “Just because we’re taking it slow doesn’t mean we can’t make out some more.”

And Benni grinned and kissed him on the mouth.

…

It was the weekend and Thomas hadn’t seen Miro since Friday. He’d decided to distance himself a bit from his boyfriend in the recent days, more because of how Miro was behaving rather than his own troubles. Throughout the week Miro had almost been avoiding everyone, claiming to have meetings, things to do in the library, and sometimes just being absent entirely without excuse. Everyone noticed but no one said anything about it.

Thomas was worried.

And then it all crashed down around their ears.

He got a phone call from Miro on Sunday night and picked up without thinking about the possible significance of it.

“Hey babe.”

“He’s got cancer, Tom,” Miroslav choked down the phone. “The doctors say he’s got a month to live.” And with that his boyfriend burst into tears.

Thomas kicked his chest of drawers as Miro sobbed down the phone.

“Fuck, Miro, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby, I know it doesn’t help but I’m so sorry.”

The only reply he received was more tears. It physically hurt him to listen to Miro’s pain. Instead of trying to console him, Thomas just let him cry. It was a few minutes before he began to cease. He heard a strangled gasp from the other end. “C-can you c-c-come over?”

Thomas’s heart sank. “Baby, I’ve got a family dinner, I’m really sorry. People are coming in five minutes. I’ll try to get away, okay?”

“O-oh, n-no it’s f-fine, I’ll be - ” Miroslav was crying again.

“Miro, I’ll be over as soon as I can okay?”

“O-okay.”

“I’m so, so, sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Miro just hiccuped, and coughed out a few more tears.

“I love you so much.”

“L-love you too.” He sounded empty, so empty that it hurt Thomas. The cracks that had appeared in the passing week had finally broken him. Thomas had prayed and prayed that it wouldn’t end up like this, but it had done, and now he had no idea what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort Miro, now that his dad was definitely on borrowed time. A month. That was nothing. The dial tone sounded and Miroslav had evidently hung up.

Thomas threw his phone as hard as he could into the mound of pillows on the bed. It bounced off and fell to the floor but he didn’t care. His heart ached for Miro. It wasn’t fair that this had happened. It didn’t even feel real, that Miroslav had broken, that Miroslav, his effortlessly cool and mature and wise boyfriend was phoning him up in tears and Thomas, dorky, clumsy, naïve Thomas, had to try and make things better.

He was painfully inexperienced in this field. Of course, he tried his best to cheer Miroslav up, to provide a shoulder to cry on, but he forever felt like he wasn’t doing enough. He couldn’t even be with Miro when he needed him. He knew that if the roles were reserved, Miroslav would have done a much better job than he was doing.

He heard the doorbell chime downstairs, and his mother yelling his name. Slowly, he retrieved his phone from the floor and headed downstairs, making sure it was set to vibrate in case Miroslav texted.

Throughout the next hour he answered his relatives’ questions with uncharacteristic halfheartedness. He picked around his plate at dinner, when usually he would wolf everything down, eager for seconds and even thirds. He couldn’t get Miro off his mind.

His mother finally pulled him to the side. “Are you okay?”

Thomas shrugged and swallowed. “Miro’s dad’s got cancer. He found out today.”

“Sweetie why didn’t you say so!” She exclaimed. “Go make sure he’s okay, if that’s what you want to do. You can take my car.”

Thomas looked up at her gratefully. “Thanks Mum. Give my apologies to the family.”

“I will do. Tell Miroslav he’s welcome to stay here any time he wants.”

“Okay, Mum, thank you, I might not be back tonight.”  
 “That’s okay. I hope he’s alright. Send him my love.”

Thomas got into the car drove as quickly as he could to Miro’s. He let himself in, and hurried through to the lounge. His boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. He tiptoed down the hallway to Miroslav’s room, and was met with a closed door. Nervously, he knocked his knuckles softly against it. There was no reply, so he pushed it open a crack.

Miroslav was curled up on his bed, his eyes shut and a peaceful expression on his face. It was a stark contrast to what Thomas had heard earlier. He was about to wake Miroslav up then decided against it - he knew how good sleep was when something was wrong, it was an escape, and Miro looked without a worry at the moment.

He walked to the kitchen, rummaged around and found a pen and paper, and wrote his boyfriend a note to let him know he was there. He placed it outside the door, then returned to the lounge and fell onto the couch, playing Candy Crush to pass the time. He’d been sitting about three quarters of an hour when Miroslav appeared in the doorway, clutching the piece of paper in a shaky hand, his eyes bloodshot, his hair a mess.

Thomas shot to his feet and was bundling Miroslav into his arms within seconds. He lead him to the couch and they sank down together. Miroslav’s bottom lip was trembling dangerously, and it was clear he was trying to repress his sobs.

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispered, his hands rubbing Miro’s shoulders. “You can cry, it’s okay.”

Miroslav let a strangled gasp loose and a tear trickled down his cheek and then there was no going back. Thomas wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him close, as Miroslav sobbed into his shirt.

“I”m so sorry,” Thomas whispered, stroking his hair. He kept repeating it, trying to soothe Miroslav, trying to make things better but he knew nothing would change what had happened. Nothing would make Miro’s dad better, nothing Thomas could do would help.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but he felt even more helpless than he had done for the past few weeks.

…

At Mario’s, things also went downhill.

Marco was telling him about an incident he’d had with Erik that day, in which they’d run into each other in the hallway. Mario himself had asked about it, but as five minutes passed and Marco was still talking about what he thought about Erik, Mario let out a very loud, very distinct sigh.

“What?” Marco said, his face falling into a frown.  
 Mario shut his eyes, then opened them again to look at his boyfriend. There was an awkward silence between them and Mario looked away.

“What?” Marco repeated, indignantly this time.

“Do you really have to talk about Erik so much?” Mario said, irritation evident in his voice.

Marco looked at him carefully.

Mario sat up. “I mean, it’s evidently messing with your head that he likes you.”

“I thought you said you were going to help me with this…”

“Yes, and I am, it’s just all you talk about these days is Erik, Erik, Erik.”

“That’s not true.”

“Feels a bit like it.”

“Well I’m sorry for caring about my best friend!”

“Best friend?” Mario was incredulous. “You guys haven’t spoken in weeks, there is no way he’s your best friend!”

“Who are you to say who my best friend is?”

Mario snorted. “Well, honey, I would have thought you could have seen that it isn’t Erik right now.”

Marco rolled off the bed and stared down at his boyfriend. “Why are you being so fucking patronising?”

“I’m not, I’m just astounded that you don’t think of me as your best friend, or even Mesut, or Benni, or Thomas, but instead you think that Erik, who refuses to talk to you, and doesn’t even want to be friends with you anymore, is the one who gets to be that for you?”

“You don’t know what it’s like for Erik! He must be… fuck - I don’t know what he’s going through but - ”

“Marco! For god’s sake, why are you trying to sympathise with him after what he said to you? Is it him you want to be with, not me?”

“No, Mario, no, I didn’t say that!”

“Well that’s what it fucking sounds like.”

Marco stared at him in disbelief, then picked up his bag. “I’m leaving,” he hissed, then walked out the door, leaving his fuming boyfriend on the bed behind him.

…

Miro didn’t turn up to school the next day, but news spread. Thomas got some looks in the corridor, and he could hear the whispering about Miro as he walked, occasionally eyeballing those he thought were talking too loudly.

“You all need a fucking holiday,” Toni said at the lunch table that day, the second to last Friday of term. Thomas was staring at his food, unable to stop thinking about Miro. He’d go round after school that day, but he was almost dreading it, and he hated himself for that fact.

Marco and Mario were still fighting, and the blond looked down in the dumps.

Benni himself wasn’t doing too badly, but that meant he was coping. But it was only just.

“Amen to that,” Benni muttered.

Mesut looked upset. “Is Miro gonna be okay?” He asked Thomas.

“Who knows,” Thomas replied.

Mats fell into the seat next to Benni. “I am fucking sick of Bastian and Lukas and their shit,” he announced. No one replied.

“Well you’re a jovial bunch aren’t you.”

Benni sighed at him. “Be quiet, Mats.”

Xabi joined them a few minutes later. “I can’t deal with the silence over there.”

“Here’s not much better,” Thomas told him darkly.

Xabi looked a bit taken aback, and Mesut patted him on the knee and gave him a look as if to say ‘don’t ask.’ Xabi knew most of their problems anyway.

There was an air of misery about most of them the rest of the day. Jogi noticed in particular, when they all turned up for History looking tired and lacking their usual boisterousness, the mischief, the playfulness, the chatter that they had on normal days.

Jogi inquired about Miro - Thomas was shocked at first the teachers had heard about it, but then realised they’d probably been informed by Miro’s mum. He gave a halfhearted shrug, and Jogi gave him a pat on the back that made him feel a tiny bit better.

In the end, their teacher just let them sit, most of them in silence, while a few of them talked. He put on a movie, and when the bell finally rung, he held them back a few minutes.

“I know a lot of you are going through some tough stuff at the moment, but I just want you all to know that you can do this, you can get through it. Keep your heads up, okay?”

Mesut caught sight of Benni wiping his eyes. Mats had his arm around the pianist, whispering to him, and at least Benni was smiling. Bastian was patting Thomas on the back.

At the sight, Mesut willed that this would all get better. It wasn’t fair that everyone was hurting. He closed his eyes and prayed to the heavens that it would get better.

…

Miro was slumped on the couch, a blanket over him, flicking through the channels on the television when Thomas arrived. The younger boy tossed his bag down next to the couch and pecked a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “Hey you.”

Miroslav looked up at him, but did not reply.

“How are you doing?” Thomas prompted, sitting down in the opposite arm chair.

“My mum called,” Miro said. He’d evidently still been crying as his eyes were red rimmed and puffy. “Wanted to discuss my flights and arrangements for… after.” He looked away from Thomas back to the television.

“So you’re all set to go?” Thomas asked.

Miro ignored this question. “She wants to move to Poland to stay with my grandparents, and she’ll be selling this house. I can find my own place here, or come with her.”

Thomas stared at him, bewilderedly. “So… you’re moving away?” He choked out.

“No. I told her I’d stay here. With you.”

“By… by yourself?”

“Yeah I’ll get a flat or something.”

“Miro, don’t get me wrong, it’s great you’re not moving away but aren’t you a bit young to be living by yourself?”

This evidently wasn’t the reaction Miro had wanted. His voice picked up a sort of growl, and his eyes hardened. “I’m 18, I’m an adult, what more do I need to be?”

“I know you are but hardly any 18 year olds live by themselves…”

“Aren’t you happy I’m staying here with you?”

“I never said I wasn’t happy, Miro, of course I’m happy! But won’t you want to be with your mum?”

“She’ll just mope around for a few months at my grandparents’ with nothing to do when Dad’s gone.” His voice cracked, and once more he turned away from Thomas, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped back a sob.

“Miro, I just… I just don’t know if it’s the best idea. Your mum needs you - ”

“Fuck her. You know and I know that she does not need me,” Miro spat, looking back at Thomas now. “She hasn’t needed me for 18 years, she won’t bloody well need me now. I’m staying here!”

“But - ”

“Don’t you understand Tom, this town, these people, these places, you, it’s all I’ll have left! I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Thomas just stared at him.

“In fact,” he dragged a hand across his eyes, angrily. “I thought you’d be the one person I could count on to be supportive of this. I guess I was wrong.”

“Miro - ” Thomas made to stand up but Miro stopped him.

“Just don’t, Tom.”

“I…”

“Please, leave me alone.”

Feeling guilty, Thomas got to his feet and headed to the door. Miro was sitting with his back to him, and Thomas looked at him for a few seconds.

“I love you,” he said, the noise ringing around the quiet room.

Miroslav didn’t reply and Thomas hung his head and left his boyfriend’s house.

…

With Miroslav not in school, Philipp was left to not only be worried sick about his best friend, but also to sort out the mess that was Bastian and Lukas by himself. They were still not talking to each other, Bastian sitting away from everyone else, and with the holidays coming at the end of the next week, and an important game on the Friday before that, things weren’t looking good.

Whether he liked it or not, Philipp became the bridge of communication between the two boys.

He knew Bastian would be stubborn enough not to speak to Lukas until the other boy spoke to him, so instead he tried with all his might to get Lukas to reconcile with Bastian.

This proved to be easier said than done.

“Why should I?” Lukas said defiantly, the first time Philipp brought the subject up.

“Because he’s your best friend, Poldi.”

“He’s a prick.”

“And you’re not?”

Lukas scowled.

Philipp raised his eyebrows pointedly.  
 “Well, it was him who started it,” Lukas protested it. “He’s evidently got some issue that he won’t tell me about and that’s not my fault. And he punched me in the face.”

“That wasn’t just a random punch, and you know that.”

Lukas huffed.

Philipp knew he was a lost cause and in the end, lost it when Per asked him how the two boys were.

“They are two of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my life,” Philipp exclaimed to a rather bewildered Per. “You’d think their ten years of friendship would be enough to salvage anything and act like mature adults, but no! I’ve heard a lifetime of bitching and whining from the both of them. I’m fucking sick of this, they can sort their own _fucking_ issues out, and leave me in some fucking peace!” He was throwing his arms about. “They know I have a life too right? And I know I’m captain but I thought that job entailed issues to do with the team, and the actual sport, not the personal lives of Bastian Fucking Schweinsteiger and Lukas Fucking Podolski!”

Per went to say something but Philipp carried on.

“I should just drop out of school, then how would they survive? It would be much easier for me. My hairline is already going to recede, it’s in my genes, but I’ll be fucking bald by the time I’m twenty at this rate if I have to spend the rest of the year dealing with those two!”

“Fipsy -“

Philipp didn’t seem to hear him. “You know what I want to know? Why Bastian keeps coming to me for advice when he doesn’t fucking listen to any of it? I mean with Lukas you know what you’re getting, he’ll do what you say or he won’t but he doesn’t pester like Basti does, no way, Basti is the master of pestering and it’s all to me, and then he just doesn’t do anything about it! I’ve told him time and time again he should just tell Lukas the truth but no, he’s stuck where he is in some sort of supposed emotional turmoil. Maybe he should look at me and see that him and his stupid crush are causing me more fucking turmoil than I need in a _fucking lifetime_!”

Per was laughing now, and Philipp stopped pacing and looked up at him, his eyebrows knotting together. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Oh Fipsy,” Per laughed.

“What!” Philipp demanded.

“Just you. It’s hilarious.”

“Thanks a lot, Mertesacker.” Philipp began to pace again.

“You’ll miss it, you know.” Per said after a little while.

“What?”

“You’ll miss it. You’ll miss them, you’ll miss any drama they’ve ever had, next year, when we’re gone.”

“I’d be fucking thankful to be gone now,” Philipp said darkly.

“Come on, they’re only 17 give them a break.”

“I was not like _that_ at 17. And anyway, I’m 18, give me a break from being the counsellor of my friends.”

“Basti and Lukas need you.”

“I thought you’d be on my side here.”

“I am, but they need you. And like I said, you might look back and regret not helping them sort this shit out. You never know, you could be the catalyst to the beginning of their relationship.”

“I can’t even get them to be friends, let alone like each other like that. Well not for Basti, but for Lukas.”

“Keep trying.”

“Of course, you can say keep trying, you’re not the one who has to do it! It’s easier said than done, you know.” He glared at Per, his bushy eyebrows knotting together and his bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

Per just kept laughing.

…

They were in music when Toni found out. Erik had reached for his cello case on the top rack of the instrument shelf and his sleeves had slipped down, allowing Toni a glimpse of red scratches on both of his wrists. Toni had dropped his clarinet in surprise, and Erik turned in shock, both boys knowing what Toni had just seen.

And Erik ran.

Toni could not follow, he was so shocked.

He needed to talk to him, but the boy evaded him the rest of the day.

He finally cornered him in the music department toilets. He had waited outside and when Erik had come out the younger boy just stared at him, a rather terrified expression on his face.

“Let me see your wrist,” Toni’s voice shook.

Erik crossed his arms. “There’s nothing wrong Toni.”

“I saw, Erik. When you reached up to get your cello. I saw the marks. Please. Just show me properly.”

“No.” Erik tried to push past him but Toni stood his ground.

“Erik, please.”

“I said no,” Erik’s voice rose.

“If you’re harming yourself we need to get you help, Erik, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Get away from me, Toni.”

“ _Please_ , Erik, just show me.”

Erik tried to push past him again. “Let me out.”

Toni reached for his sleeve, and Erik flinched away. “Erik, please.”

“N-no,” Erik’s voice was shaking and tears welled in his eyes.

“I can help, Erik.”

“No one c-can help me!” Erik stammered.

“Please, I can, just show me, please.”

Erik looked at him, a hopeless, defeated look, his lip trembling, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. They stared at each other, in the little bathroom of the music department, and after so long apart Erik finally opened up to Toni again.

He let his arms fall and then reached for the sleeve of his blazer. Toni watched him pull it up, and bit back a gasp at the angry red scratches that ran up and down his friend’s arms.  
 “Oh, Erik…” Toni breathed.

Erik reached for his other sleeve and revealed the others. A few tears ran down his cheeks and splashed to the ground. “I only d-did it once, I promise,” his voice wobbled, his eyes lowered, not meeting Toni’s.

Toni took a tentative step towards him, and opened his arms, pausing for a second in case Erik shied away. The younger boy did not, and Toni enveloped him in an embrace. He could feel Erik shaking, and in that moment, he realised just how skinny Erik had got.

“I’m sorry,” Erik kept repeating, clutching at Toni desperately.

“I’m sorry too,” Toni told him.

They stood there, Erik wrapped in his arms, for a good while, as Erik’s tears subsided.

Toni reached for his hand and carefully lifted up Erik’s sleeve. It looked nasty, the raw red marks standing out brutally against Erik’s tanned skin. “How did you… not with a blade or anything?”

“Just my nails,” Erik murmured.

Toni realised that it could have been a lot worse, that Erik’s scratches were not the worst form of self harm, and he thanked god that the boy had not tried anything else. A few had started to scab, forming dark little lines, but others were still open and one or two looked to be yellowing.

“We need to get these cleaned and covered,” Toni said. “I think I have plasters in my bag.”

“Not plasters,” Erik said suddenly. “It will be too obvious - ”

“As if the huge red marks on your arms weren’t enough?” Toni said, slightly too harshly and Erik shrunk back. “Erik,” he said, gentler this time. “They’ll scar if they get infected. We need to clean them.”

“O-okay.”

And so, Toni wedged his jumper against the door in the hope it would stop people coming in and they ran Erik’s arms under the tap. It seemed to hurt quite a bit from the faces Erik was making as the water hit his skin, but once they’d put plasters over the worser ones, he seemed to be a lot more relaxed.

“Thank you, Toni,” Erik said as Toni placed the final plaster on his skin.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for everything that happened on New Years,” Toni told him.

“It’s okay,” Erik imitated him, a little smile pulling at his mouth.

Toni smiled back.

…

Xabi was round at Mesut’s studying. It wasn’t often he would go to the younger boy’s house, but they were there as the library had a special event on, and Isabel had her book club round at Xabi’s. Similar to their recent sessions, they hadn’t achieved much. They talked about Bastian and Lukas, about Miro, and about Benni, and about the whole situation and fate and how it wasn’t fair. They talked about life, and Xabi felt the bile rise up in his throat every time Mesut mentioned his parents. He would say their names with a sort of restraint, as if he didn't want to speak too loudly for fear they would hear him talking about them.

Xabi wanted to yell at them, make them see that they had an unbelievably talented son. He hated seeing Mesut upset, or anxious, because of some stupid thing his mother had said to him the morning of a test, which made him doubt himself even more than he did already, which Xabi knew was a lot.

He looked over at the other boy. Mesut was staring intently at the equations in front of him, fiddling with the pen in his hand, flicking it around and around between his fingers in a mesmerising display of control. He'd seen kids do this all the time and had never been able to do it himself.

Mesut had nice hands; soft palms leading to slender fingers, with calluses hardening the tips. Xabi presumed it was from playing the cello. He’d never known much about music but he suddenly found himself wanting to know everything.

Xabi moved his attention to Mesut's face, caught in the half light of the lamp on the bedside table. He was a strange sort of beautiful. But it was a beautiful that Xabi couldn’t take his eyes off.

With a jolt, he realised that he was falling for Mesut Özil.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Mesut heard and looked up curiously. "You okay?"

Those eyes. At the present time, they were filled with concern, a soft affection conveyed along with the slightest raise of his eyebrows.

"Nothing," Xabi lied. "I just did this wrong." He motioned helplessly to the sheet of equations. Mesut reached for it before Xabi could stop him; of course all the equations were right.

"Which one?" He asked, looking up at Xabi.

"Um... Number 6." Xabi chose at random.

Mesut studied it, his eyebrows knotting together in concentration. He bit his lip - _his god damn lip_ \- and frowned. "No I think it's right?" He leaned up so he was sitting on his knees. "Yeah, it's fine."

He was ever so close, and Xabi was overcome with the urge to kiss him. The moment passed as Mesut settled back down.

Xabi spent the rest of the evening not doing much work at all, instead staring at the boy across from him, who was luckily too immersed in his own homework to notice. He was also internally freaking the fuck out, because he now realised he had legitimate feelings for the younger boy. Miro and Philipp had always asked him if he liked Mesut and he'd denied it each time and never doubted himself. But now it was a different matter, because he’d finally realised that Mesut was one of the most goddamn beautiful creatures he’d ever seen and all this time Xabi had been slowly falling in love with him.

He was screwed.

…

 _ **Mats Hummels** updated his status:_  
_Party Saturday? We all fucking need it. Anyone wanna host?_  
_**Lukas Podolski, Miroslav Klose, Manuel Neuer** and 5 others like this._

 _ **Miroslav Klose** : my place is free_  
_**Lukas Podolski** liked this._

_**Mats Hummels** : keen :D_

_…..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late, just got back from England
> 
> Please do not hesitate to tell me what you thought. Every comment, kudos, subscription, it all means the world to me.
> 
> Much love. hope you liked the chapter.
> 
> -C


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down. There's no other way to describe it. Philipp is forever the unofficial Agony Aunt. He has a love hate relationship with the job. Hearts are broken.
> 
> A/N: There are elements of non-consensual sex in this chapter. Please do not read if this triggers you.

They’d squeaked a win in their football game that morning. A Xabi Alonso free kick in the 88th minute to put them 1-0 up. Jogi didn’t yell at them. He didn’t really say anything other than congratulating Xabi, and telling them all to go home and have a good night’s rest.

Rest wasn’t exactly on the cards.

Bastian and Lukas were still blatantly ignoring each other. Lukas had got to Miro’s early, and when Bastian arrived, the Pole tried a little smile, and was met with cold eyes from his friend. He didn’t refrain from huffing as Bastian walked into the house.

Xabi received a guard of honour when he arrived, for having scored their only goal and saving the fate of the match. They all toasted to him a little while later, when the drink was flowing and Manuel was conducting a highly inebriated version of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ from his vantage point standing on the kitchen bench.

“Now someone give me a shot!” He yelled, when the chorus had finished and almost flattened Philipp as he leaped off the bench.

Xabi’s heart had gone to his mouth as Manuel launched himself off the bench, but as Per dragged him away to somewhere safe, he could relax again. However that was a little hard when he was having a hard fought battle in his mind about his feelings for Mesut.

The other boy had given him a tight hug when he’d arrived - Xabi was interested to see that he was already a bit tipsy, something that was unlike Mesut, who usually was rather responsible with his drinking. Now, he was talking to Thomas in the kitchen, leaning casually against the bench in a way that stretched his body out perfectly on display, all long legs and defined torso.

Xabi tore his eyes away. He turned his attention to Benni and Mats, who were cuddled up on the couch, and had been since he’d arrived.

Benni was sitting in Mats' lap with his arms wrapped around the footballer's neck. He had a huge smile on his face, and his boyfriend was the same. They were the epitome of everything Xabi suddenly wanted with Mesut.

Xabi watched, feeling very jealous as Mats whispered something in Benni's ear and they both laughed, then Benni kissed him.

“Xabier,” a very drunk Miroslav appeared next to him. "You look down in the dumps, mate. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"You're not a good liar."

Xabi scowled at him, then let his gaze wander across the room to Mesut, who was cradling a drink and laughing with Thomas and Toni. Miro followed his line of sight, then let out a low whistle. "You've finally realised you like him, haven't you?"

Xabi snapped his head round to look at his friend, who chuckled and took another swig of his beer.

"It was only a matter of time," Miroslav shrugged.

"Fuck," Xabi cursed, dragging his hand through his hair. “I was so fucking sure - ”

"You want to get with him? Just get with him. There's plenty of alcohol to go around, get him feeling the buzz and then just go for it.”

“Fuck,” Xabi repeated.

“Knew you’d finally come round.”

Xabi gave him a pained look. They stood and watched Mesut some more, Xabi itching with the urge to just walk over there and kiss him. He turned to Miro. “How are you, anyway?”

Miro shrugged. “My dad’s got cancer and he’s going to die,” he said bluntly. Xabi blushed, realising he was stupid to ask.

“I’m fucking sorry, Miro, honestly.”

“Nothing you could do,” Miro slurred, clapping Xabi on the back. “Now go get him, okay?” And with that he disappeared into the crowd.

Xabi looked back over at Mesut who was now dancing with his friends. He had his arms up in the air, a drink in his hand, and god, Xabi couldn’t take his eyes off him.

_Go get him._

Easier said than done.

…

Ever since their argument the previous day, Thomas had given Miro a wide berth, hoping, rather ignorantly, that it would all just blow over on its own. He hadn’t texted or called Miro, and had not seen him that morning at the game for Jogi had given the senior the day off, of course. Miro was in no fit state to play a game of football.

When he got to his boyfriend’s house on Saturday night, he was anxious. He didn’t know what to say to Miroslav, whether he wanted an apology, or just some space.

He decided on the latter, and instead watched Miro from afar. He seemed happy. Or, rather, happier. It worried Thomas that this improvement was down to the copious amounts of alcohol his boyfriend had consumed, but it was a relief to see Miro having fun, with some sort of smile on his face. He himself wasn’t in the mood for drinking.

It wasn’t that he avoided Miro - well it was really. Any time he saw his boyfriend enter the same room he would depart. Miro didn’t seem to notice, and he didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.

At around 11, he went upstairs and used the bathroom, then headed through Miro’s room, out the sliding door and onto the balcony. It was nice to have some fresh air.

He’d been leaning against the railing, looking out over the city and thinking about things for a good fifteen minutes, slowly sipping at the beer in his hand, when he heard the sliding door open and shut behind him, and footsteps on the floor.

It was Miro, completely off his face, and swaying rather tragically as he stumbled towards Thomas, but the younger boy still felt the same thing every time he looked at him. He loved this boy, loved him so much in a way that he had never felt love before and while it scared him immensely, along with having to handle what had happened over the previous weeks, it also made him feel sort of… comfortable. Miro was home. Miro was always there and Miro knew what to say and what to do, and Thomas was the happiest he’d ever been. He threw out an arm to stop Miroslav tripping over and slamming his head against the railing, and pulled him up, feeling his boyfriend’s arms slide around his waist.

“Missed you,” Miro mumbled into his chest. “Kept thinking about you.”

“Listen, Miro - ” He knew it wasn’t the best time to apologise because of the possibility that Miroslav might not even remember it, but he was going to try. However, he was cut short as Miro leaned up and pressed his lips to Thomas’, in a warm, sloppy kiss.

And Thomas couldn’t help but melt into it. He let himself be pushed against the railing, Miro’s hands going everywhere, savouring the taste of Miro’s mouth as they kissed.

Miro had his own shirt off in record time - although Thomas thought he heard it rip, but in his drunk state Miro did not seem to notice.

“Bedroom?” They broke apart and Thomas nodded, letting himself be pulled by his boyfriend inside.

“Need you,” Miro slurred, pulling Thomas down on top of him and kissing him fiercely. “Want you… want to fuck you.”

His kiss moved to Thomas’ neck, not gentle whatsoever, carrying neediness that worried Thomas. He was biting at Thomas’ skin, his hands running all over the younger boy.

“Take your clothes off,” Miro told him, pulling drunkenly at Thomas’ button down.

And it wasn’t as if Thomas didn’t want him, it was that Thomas didn’t want him like _this_ , as he knew Miro would regret it in the morning.

“Miro, I don’t think - ”

Miro stared at him wildly. “I need you, Tom,” he panted. “Please. Needa make it go ‘way.”

And he kissed him again and Thomas kissed him back, letting him undo the buttons of his shirt, being patient as Miro’s clumsy fingers struggled with the zip of his jeans.

Miro still held him like he loved him, but it was different, more desire than love, and it wasn’t gentle, rather rushed. The preparation wasn’t enough and it hurt for Thomas, but he wanted Miro to be okay, and he knew Miro wanted this so he let his boyfriend fuck him, sloppy and rushed and not doing anything for him apart from making him hurt. Miro rutted above him, manhandling Thomas’ legs and gasping with pleasure as he moved in and out. When he came, he buried his head in Thomas’ shoulder, panting hard into the bare skin, and Thomas ran his hands through Miro’s hair, feeling almost sad that they’d done what they had just done. It was only their third time, and it wasn’t exactly how Thomas had imagined he’d be having sex.

He didn’t want it to happen in that way ever again, but as Miro rolled off him and Thomas snuck a look over at him, he knew that Miro was struggling to cope, and had he denied him it might have just made things worse.

His boyfriend was out like a light, his eyes shut and a very unfamiliar smile on his face. Thomas climbed out of the bed and gingerly put his shirt back on, then pulled the blankets up around Miroslav. He ducked his head and gently pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. He was half hard, and retreated to the bathroom to finish what Miro hadn’t been able to, then relocated his trousers and headed back downstairs to the party, worry for Miro clouding his thoughts.

…

Xabi had given Mesut three strong drinks over the course of the last half hour, and the younger boy was now very much drunk.

Xabi himself was rather tipsy, and didn't really know what he was doing when he found himself in the kitchen with Mesut.

"You're the best, Xabi," Mesut was slurring - he was a happy drunk if there ever was one.

"Oh yeah?" Xabi chuckled. "And why's that?"

Mesut stumbled towards him, looking insanely cute with his hair all ruffled. Xabi had realised he looked cute in general, but especially tonight. The polo he was wearing fit him well, the colour complimenting his eyes perfectly. Xabi’s eyes trailed down, admiring the patch of skin revealed as Mesut’s shirt rode up over his hipbone, giving Xabi a hint of a v line and oh god he was in way over his head. It was like he’d fallen in the deep end and he felt like he was drowning.

Mesut latched his arms around the older boy's waist. "Because you're just so... Just so... I don't know," he giggled, then rested his head on Xabi's shoulder. "You're the best," he murmured.

“You’re pretty cool yourself,” Xabi murmured into his hair, then decided to just go for it. He tilted Mesut’s face up and slid their mouths together.

He was drunk, they both were, but it was all Xabi had ever wanted. Mesut’s mouth was hot and he tasted like alcohol, but it was unbelievably perfect - in Xabi’s mind at least.

They’d been kissing for just a handful of seconds when he let out a moan that seemed to bring Mesut down to earth. The younger boy sprung away from him like he’d been electrocuted. “What the fuck?” He exclaimed, his eyes containing a fire that Xabi had never seen before.

“I - “

“You kissed me, why did you just kiss me?”

Mesut gave him a push, looking scared and angry at the same time and Xabi wanted to crawl into a hole and die. When he didn’t reply, Mesut asked again, his voice panicked and insistent. “Why did you kiss me?”

_Fuck it,_ Xabi thought, he’d messed everything up already, he was drunk, and he just wanted Mesut to know, regardless of the consequences. “I think I’m in love with you,” he said.

Mesut stumbled backwards like he’d been pushed, as if the mere force of Xabi’s words was enough to bring him to his knees. “No,” he stammered. “No, you aren’t. You can’t be.”

Xabi just looked at him pleadingly, wishing that this wasn’t going the way he thought it was.

“No,” Mesut repeated, staggering backwards to the opposite counter. His hand flew out to steady himself and knocked a beer bottle onto the floor. It smashed, but he didn’t even seem to register it. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Mes, I - ”

“Don’t call me that,” Mesut’s voice shook. “No.” He shook his head adamantly as if he could make Xabi’s confessions simply disappear. “No you can’t be. No.”

“Please,” Xabi begged. “Please, Mes - Mesut - I just - I’m sorry.”

The younger boy’s mouth moved, but no words came out. He held Xabi’s gaze for a few long seconds, then staggered out of the kitchen. Xabi couldn’t bring himself to follow him. He slumped against the kitchen counter and slid to the floor, too numb, too heartbroken to even look if there were shards of glass beneath him.

Everything had gone so horribly wrong. He felt tears prick at his eyes, as he relived what had just happened; the shock on Mesut’s face, the anger after they’d broke apart after that kiss, that wonderful kiss that had had Xabi thinking that maybe this could have worked, until he was brought crashing back down to earth by Mesut’s outrage.

“Xabi?” He heard a voice at the door and looked up to see Philipp, a look of deepest concern on his face. His friend would want to talk, and that was the thing Xabi least wanted right now. He clambered to his feet. “Don’t come after me,” he said, his voice cracking as the sobs threatened to break through, then scarpered in the direction of the door.

He knew Philipp was following, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the boy who’d just rejected him, who was still inside Miro’s house.

“Xabi!” Philipp was hurrying down the steps, his face shadowed, but Xabi could hear the urgency and worry in his voice.  “Go away Fips,” he choked out as he rummaged in his pocket for his keys. “I don’t want to fucking talk!”

“What happened in there, please, Xabi, just tell me!”  “No!” Xabi yelled. “Fuck off! I’m not fucking talking! You can go ask him if you really want to know!” He was having a hard time not bursting into tears. He swung open the door of his car, but before he could get in, Philipp grabbed him by the shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk, but there is no way I’m letting you drive anywhere,” Philipp told him, snatching the keys.

“Fine,” Xabi slammed the door, feeling a sob build up in his throat, clogging his speech. “I’ll walk.”  

And with that he wriggled away from Philipp, shoved his hands in his pockets and started off down the road, leaving his friend, and the boy he was in love with, behind.

…

“Hey.”

Mario looked up from his phone quickly, the voice having made him jump. Toni stood before him. He was unsure why the blonde boy was even at the party, as he wasn’t dating any of the footballers like Benni was and he wasn’t a footballer himself. Marco hadn’t been invited. Mario knew that because he was currently texting him.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Mario shook his head, and Toni took a seat on the couch opposite. He had a drink in his hand, which looked to be relatively untouched. Mario himself had had a reasonable amount - enough to buck up the courage to text his boyfriend for the first time in a few days.

“Good party, yeah?” Toni said, the awkward small talk painfully obvious.

“I am texting Marco, if that’s what you wanted to know,” Mario replied patronisingly.

“Oh,” Toni blushed, caught out. “Yeah well, he’s my friend and I noticed thinks weren’t normal between you this morning so I thought I’d ask.”

“Well then fucking ask.”

Toni scratched his cheek. “So what happened?” He asked, a little gingerly.

“Erik fucking Durm happened. No thanks to you.”

Toni rolled his eyes. “Are we really gonna do this? I don’t think it’s any of your business what Erik does with his life, nor how I may have influenced things.”

“Well it affects me a great deal, so maybe it is my business.”

“Why does it affect you?”

“Because now that Marco knows about Erik’s little secret, it’s like he’s having second thoughts about us.”

Toni’s eyes widened. Now that was very interesting. “What do you mean… second thoughts?”

“He always fucking goes on about Erik and I asked him not to talk about him so much and he just shot me down. He said Erik was his best friend when Erik doesn’t even want to be friends with him!”

“Erik only did that because he couldn’t stand being around Marco and you. I’m pretty sure he still would like to be friends with Marco.”

“Thanks, Toni. That’s great help.”

“I don’t recall you asking for help.”

“Fuck,” Mario ran a hand through his hair. “Erik Durm just needs to get out of my life.”

_Maybe you need to get out of his_ , Toni thought. He just shrugged.

Mario’s phone buzzed with a text. Toni caught a glimpse of the preview;

_you’re twisting my words, I never… - marco_

“Do you have to be so fucking nosy?” Mario exclaimed, shielding his phone from Toni’s sight.

Toni supposed he was being nosy. He stood up. Mario glared at him until he got the memo and walked away.

He pulled out his phone and texted Erik.

_need to talk to you. about marco/götze. usual place tomorrow? - toni_

…

By 3 in the morning, Miroslav was nowhere to be seen (though there were a few yelps coming from upstairs and a sort of rhythmic thudding that Philipp had heard when he'd gone to the second floor toilet,) but Thomas was accompanying Per in the hopeless act of trying to clean Miro’s flat up a bit, and he didn’t look himself. Mats and Benni were in their own world, cuddled together on the couch and whispering to each other and Mesut sat hunched in the corner staring into an empty beer bottle. Bastian and Lukas were blatantly ignoring each other, sitting on opposite ends of the room. Mario was curled up in an armchair, the light of his phone illuminating his face, which had an irritated expression and he was typing with unnecessary force. He had no idea where Xabi was. Philipp sighed. When had it all gone to shit? he thought.

He realised now that it was not very wise to have just let Xabi go, not in his state. He had no idea what had occurred between him and Mesut, but it didn’t look good and he felt almost betrayed - Xabi and Mesut were the ones he’d been counting on to be okay through all this.

He looked over at Benni and Mats. They truly were in their own world, as neither picked up on the fact that Philipp was watching them. He felt envious; even though he knew Benni wasn’t going through a good time just then, he knew that their relationship was probably nothing short of perfect. The way Mats looked at him was a way in which he’d never seen Mats look at anyone before, and Philipp was honestly rather glad the defender seemed to be settling down to some extent.

Per walked past them, picking up an array of beer bottles and putting them into a plastic bag. Philipp’s gaze followed him now, and unlike the couple on the couch, Per did notice. He looked up at Philipp and smiled. Philipp felt at ease, just then, as Per placed the bag on the ground and walked towards him. The lanky defender sat next to him and wrapped his arms around Philipp.

“Looked like you needed a hug, Fips,” Per murmured.

 Philipp nodded defeatedly and hugged his friend back.

…

_Did you get home safe? - fips_

_Xabier. - fips_

_Reply. - fips_

_yes i’m fine you text like my dad but with less spanish jesus christ - xabi_

_Good. Still here if you want to talk, bro - fips_

_don’t ‘bro’ me in the hope that you sound less dad-like - xabi_

_but yes, i kinda do wanna talk… - xabi_

_you at home? - xabi_

_Yep, come over whenever :) - fips_

_god, at least you didn’t do a nose - xabi_

_:-) - fips_

“I fucked up,” Xabi said when Philipp opened the door. “I fucked up so bad, Fips.”

Philipp ushered him inside and sat him down with a glass of milk and a biscuit - in true dad-like fashion - and got Xabi to tell him all about what had happened.

"Why did I get him drunk?" Xabi wailed. "It was just so fucking awkward, and it wasn't right, and it should have been right, but he just pushed me away and got angry and I just… We were both so off our faces it was just ruined and I feel so bad for taking advantage of him like that!”

"Have you talked to him?"

"He didn't reply to my text," Xabi said defeatedly. "What if he hates me! What if he never speaks to me again, Fips!"

"Mesut isn't going to hate you."

"I fucked everything up.”

“It will all be fine on Monday,” Philipp said, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly.

It wasn't. Xabi got to Spanish to find Mesut sitting in the seat he'd first sat in, one row behind Xabi. The young cellist didn't even look at him.

Xabi felt whatever was left of his heart fall to the pit of his stomach.

Mesut didn't say a word to him throughout the entire lesson. He even made conversation with Miro, but refused to so much as glance at Xabi.

Xabi was freaking out. When the bell rang at the end of the period he dashed to the bathroom and locked himself in a cubicle, gasping huge breaths and trying not to cry.

He had not been expecting this. The last time he’d done something to betray his trust Mesut had forgiven him so quickly that he had got himself into a false sense of security. This time it was completely different. Mesut refused to even look at him. This was so bad.

He sat down on the toilet lid and put his head in his hands, trying to breathe evenly. They had practice that afternoon, and after the lesson they’d just had, he didn’t know if he could face Mesut. He didn’t know what treatment he would receive and it was making him nervous just thinking about it. His heart hammered in his chest.

He spent the interval in the toilets. He didn’t want to go out, for fear he’d bump into Mesut or one of his friends. When the bell rang he scarpered for his geography class, his head down, not even looking to see where he was going and bumping into various people on the way.

Philipp gave him a questioning look as he sat down, but he just shook his head, feeling the tears well up in his eyes once more and he hated himself for it. He was pathetic. He looked away, down at his desk where luckily there was a test in front of him. Something to take his mind off things.

He’d never been more glad to see a test in his life.

…

Miro wasn’t at school still, but Thomas needed to tell someone about what had happened so he sought out Philipp the first chance he got. The captain looked stressed and Thomas was about to just tell him never mind but Philipp knew something was up.

“Is Miro okay?” he asked and Thomas supplied a pained look as an answer. “I take it that’s a no then.” He sighed. “Gimme the story.”

Thomas nodded, ever so grateful for Philipp Lahm. “We fought. He said his mum’s selling their house and moving to Poland but he’s staying here and he’s going to buy a flat or something and live by himself and I don’t know, I know he’s mature and he’s 18 and everything but the thought of him living by himself so soon after his dad dies makes me really anxious. I told him I maybe didn’t think it was the best decision and he accused me of not supporting him and after the last few weeks I just got it in my head that he was right and I really wasn’t doing enough and he knew it. He kicked me out of his house and I didn’t talk to him till Saturday at his, although we didn’t do much talking…” He trailed off at this, looking at Philipp almost guiltily.

“What happened, Tom?” Philipp said, his voice laced with apprehension.

“We had sex, but it was… he was so drunk and it wasn’t good at all and I don’t think he remembers it but he was telling me he needed me and that it would make things go away and I couldn’t deny him that!”

“You can,” Philipp interrupted, a hard expression on his face. “If you don’t want to sleep with him, you don’t sleep with him, okay Tom?”

“I just - ”

“I don’t care what you say, I know you were doing it for him but that’s not what sex is about and you don’t need to do that for him.” There was a pause as Thomas looked at the ground and Philipp looked at him. “He’s not using you, per se, but it’s bordering on that. And I know you don’t want that and I know he doesn’t want that.”

“I did feel… used,” Thomas’ voice came out in a hushed whisper. He felt awful admitting it out loud. But it was the truth, and it was all he’d been able to think about since he’d tucked Miro under the covers. “But I know it’s not his fault! He was so drunk and he’s not in a good place.”

“Don’t let him use you like that again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But I honestly don’t think he meant to,” Philipp conceded. “Like you say, he’s not in a good place. Have you talked to him since then?”

Thomas shook his head. “Not even texts.”

“Shit okay, I’ll have a word with him about the living thing. I’m going round this afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“Chin up, yeah Mülli? Like I told you last time.”

“Yeah. It’s just… hard.”

“I know.”

“I hate seeing him like this.”

“I know. So do I.”

“Should I text him or something? Or drop in?”

“No I think you should wait till you see him in person. I’ll talk to him okay?”

“Thanks Fips.”

“Any time, Thomas. See you at practice.”

…

Said practice that afternoon was nothing short of atrocious.

Xabi couldn’t pass to save his life. Bastian and Lukas were unnecessarily petty, lunging in tackles on one another which were far too dangerous. Mario wasn’t himself. Thomas hardly touched the ball. Mesut was off with the fairies and Mats was painfully distracted. The latest crisis was that it seemed Manuel and Robert were in some kind of fight.

Philipp was getting to the end of his tether. Jogi was there and past it.

“Do you want to win the league or not!” He yelled at them in the huddle at the end of training. “We’re playing our biggest competition this Friday and you boys can hardly string three passes together! Now I know it’s been tough for a lot of you with various things going on these past few weeks but isn’t football supposed to be a release from all that? Focus on the game. Now hit the showers.”

Philipp had thought Jogi had been a bit tough. But he felt the same way. They were never going to win anything if no one could get past their personal lives.

He followed the rest of the boys into the dressing rooms. There was no chatter, no sweaty faced smiles, just a feeling of despair hanging in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Xabi sidled up to him, his gear bag in his hands, a sheepish expression on his face. Philipp knew he usually changed near Mesut, Miro and Thomas, but obviously that was not the case today.

Philipp moved his stuff to make room for his friend, not asking any questions. Xabi seemed grateful for this.

“You coming to the shower?” Philipp asked and Xabi shook his head.

“Want to make sure I catch Mesut,” he said quietly, stepping out of his training shorts and into a pair of jeans.

Philipp nodded. “Text me if you want to talk, yeah?”

“Thanks Fips.”

Philipp headed towards the showers. As much as he sometimes despised it, being the team’s unofficial Agony Aunt was something he liked to think he was getting kind of good at. It might have helped if his bloody team could actually sort out their problems after he gave them all advice.

…

Xabi changed slowly once he’d seen Mesut get in the showers. As the locker room began to empty he headed outside to wait instead. He leant against the wall and waited.

Mesut was one of the last to leave and when he saw Xabi waiting he turned away and quickened his pace. Xabi raced after him. “Mesut!”

The cellist kept walking, heading for the exit, ignoring Xabi entirely.

“Mesut please!” He was getting desperate now, walking alongside the other boy, praying Mesut would at least acknowledge him.

"Mes, I'm sorry, please just talk to me!"

The younger boy whipped around and faced Xabi, the same fire in his eyes that Xabi had seen the night of the party. “What?" he spat, and Xabi almost turned and ran away right then and there.

"Mesut, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry about what happened at Miro's."

Mesut eyeballed him. "You got me drunk and took advantage of me. I thought you were different, but no, you're just like every other stupid teenage boy."

Xabi felt like his heart had been ripped into pieces. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, on the verge of tears.

"And anyway," Mesut leered at him. "I'm not gay."

That was a shock if there ever was one. Xabi staggered backwards. ”Y-you kissed me back - ” He stammered.

"Only because I didn't know what I was doing.”

Every word was like another twist of the knife.

“But you, y-you, you… I thought you were - “

“Well you thought wrong. I’m not. Now stay away from me.”

And Mesut turned and walked away, leaving Xabi by himself in the middle of the empty car park.

He got home and cried. He cried for the first time since he’d left Spain all those years ago. He cried because he couldn’t believe that he’d fucked up what had probably been the best thing in his life.

It had hurt when he’d left Spain, leaving family, friends, places, people, leaving everything behind. But this was different, and somehow infinitely worse, because Mesut was something else. Mesut was so incredibly important to him that he hadn’t realised it until it was too late. Tears rolled down his cheeks and into his lap, as he sat on the edge of his bed and just cried and cried, loud ugly sobs.

Eventually there was a knock on his door, and his mother stepped in. She didn't say anything, didn’t ask the cause for his distress, just sat down next to him on the bed and drew him close to her. He clutched at her desperately, wishing more than anything he could go back in time and correct his mistakes before he’d screwed it all up.

He knew that wasn’t possible, and he knew that he’d potentially lost Mesut forever.

…

Per was always one of the last out of the showers. Today, he was the absolute last, except for Philipp, who he found pacing back and forth in the dressing room.

“Fipsy,” Per said in surprise, putting down his training bag. “What are you still doing here.”

Philipp looked up in equal surprise, clearly in his own little word in his head. “Oh, it’s you. If you really want to know, I’m freaking the _fuck_ out.”

Per took a seat on the bench and watched his friend pace back and forth determinedly, trying not to laugh at the way in which his eyebrows were scrunched together like two angry caterpillars framing Philipp’s positively fuming expression.

“Hey, calm down, what’s - ”

“I won’t calm down!” Philipp exclaimed, his hands clenching into fists. “Half my team hates the other half and we’re not going to win this stupid league even though it’s our last chance, none of them seem to care!”

“Fipsy, hey, stop,” Per got to his feet and had to physically bend down to wrap his arms around his friend. Philipp let out a noise that was half surprised half disgruntled when his feet left the ground and Per lifted him up.

“Put me _down_ , Mertesacker.”

“Nope.” Per swung him round a few times, but kept his grip on him.

“Per, come on, I’m not in the mood.”

The tall defender eventually set him down on the bench grinning at him. “Is my little captain grumpy?”

“I am not anyone’s ‘little captain.’”

“I don’t think you get to pick and choose that, Fips. You’ll always be my little captain. _Mi pequeño capitán_.”

Philipp’s cheeks reddened for no apparent reason.

“Now, my vertically challenged friend, tell me, without getting all cute and mad, why you’re not going to calm down.”

Per calling him cute had thrown him off a bit, and he just stared at his friend for a few seconds. Then he put his head in his hands.

“Basti and Lukas can’t even be in each other’s vicinity without people needing to hold them back from killing each other. Mesut broke Xabi’s heart because the poor sod confessed his love because stupid bloody Miro told him to. Now Xabi’s down in the dumps and Mesut’s shut off from everyone. Miro himself found out his dad’s got terminal cancer. Thomas is worried about him, I’m worried about him, most people are worried about him. Mario’s arguing with his boyfriend, I’m pretty sure Manuel and Robert are ignoring each other but I’m not certain, and all in all, my hopes of winning the league this year have turned to shreds.” He turned and looked at Per despairingly. “Help.”

“I get that you want to win the league, Fips, but maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

“But that’s. not. fair!”

“I know it’s not. Life’s not fair.”

“You would have thought that after all the hell they’ve put me through this year they would let me win the league? Just once? Before I graduate?”    
“They’re all too preoccupied with their own problems, sorry to say it Lahmi.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But don’t you want to win it? I want it so badly.”

“I want to win, of course. But you’ll have forgotten all about the stupid high school league title in a year’s time. Don’t worry yourself. Let them do their thing, maybe we’ll have a miracle.”

Philipp scowled. “With my luck I highly doubt it.”

…

Miro returned to school on Wednesday. Thomas steered well clear of him again, only really seeing him once in the corridor from afar until lunchtime when Miro approached the music boys’ table.

“Uh… Miro, hi,” Mesut said when Thomas did not speak, and instead just stared at his boyfriend.

“Can I talk to Thomas?” Miro asked, tentatively.

Mesut looked expectantly at his friend, then gave him a nudge when he didn’t move. Thomas got to his feet, made a mess of retrieving his bag from under the table, which involved him whacking his head against the underside of the table, and followed Miro, who lead him to a table in the corner, the one they usually sat at if it was just the two of them.

They sat opposite each other, staring, waiting for the other to speak.

Miro eventually broke the silence. “Can I hold your hand?” He asked, in a tiny voice that just made Thomas want to pull him into his arms and hug him tight for the rest of eternity.

“Of course,” he replied, smiling gently at his boyfriend, and reaching for Miro’s hand, twining their fingers together.

Miro looked down at the table, then back up at Thomas. “What… what happened on Saturday? Fips told me I’d fucked up… That I should apologise.”

Thomas gave him a brief run through, trying to phrase it in a way that would not make Miro feel upset or guilty, because even though he shuddered to think of the experience, he didn’t want Miro beating himself up about it because he’d been too drunk to know what he was doing.

“I don’t remember a thing,” Miro said, dismayed, raking his free hand through his hair. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Tom.”

“It’s okay. I’m really sorry about what I said to you the other day. About… the flat and stuff.”

“It’s fine,” Miro said. “I was unfair on you. I was being a dick.”

“You weren’t. You were right, I should have been more supportive and I wasn’t but now I’m going to be. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be right here with you. I’m here for the long haul, and you’d better get used to it.” He placed his other hand on top of Miro’s. “I love you Miro. So much. And we’re going to get through this, yeah?”

Miro nodded, pulling his hand back to wipe his eyes, which had filled with tears. “You’re the best boyfriend ever,” He said, his voice thick. “I hope you know that. I wouldn’t have got through the last few weeks if it wasn’t for you.”    
Thomas blushed and shrugged, bashfully, unsure of what to say. “I’m always here for you,” he eventually said.

Miro sniffled a bit and a few tears splashed onto his blazer. Thomas hurried to the service counter to get a napkin to serve as a tissue. He sat down next to Miro now, and held his hand again as he wiped his eyes with the other.

“Thank you,” the senior mumbled after a little while. “I love you so much.”

Thomas opened his arms and Miro leaned into him, his head tucked beneath his boyfriend’s chin. Stroking his the back of his head, and finally feeling like he was doing something reasonably right, Thomas replied “I love you too.”

…

The game on Friday was going to be a disaster from the beginning. Second in the table were playing first in the table, and it had really come at the worst time. They'd all had the worst last day of term ever, and trudged to the pitch not in high spirits whatsoever. Most of them were looking forward to the holiday they were getting after this last game.

They went 1-0 down within the first five minutes. Jogi had played them in a 4-2-3-1, with a back line of Philipp, Per, Jerome and Mats, with the holding midfield pair of Bastian and Xabi playing behind Thomas, Mesut and Lukas, and Robert up front. Despite a strong team it was a disaster. Bastian and Lukas would not link up, Thomas kept drifting offside, Xabi was tackling dirty left right and centre.

The back four were keeping them in it until the second goal went in after a disastrous mistake by Mats on the left wing.

Half time and they were 2-0 down. Jogi tried with all his might to instil some fighting spirit into them, but there was no hope. Philipp looked like he was about to cry at the prospect of Luitpold gaining a 5 point advantage at the top of the table with only a handful of games left.

The third goal was an own goal, that had Jogi in fits on the sideline as the ball bounced in off Bastian’s outstretched shin. The blonde had his head down as they traipsed back into starting positions, and where Lukas would usually be comforting him, there was no one.

4-0 and 5-0 didn’t really make much of a difference to them. When the final whistle blew, none of them really looked very phased. Philipp was straight into the showers and they could hear him throwing something around as Jogi went through a post-match debrief.

He didn’t yell. He'd done enough of that at training. He didn’t reprimand them. He knew that they were just kids and that a lot of them were going through some tough stuff so he didn’t want to yell. With the air of someone wanting to get things over with he ran through the small list of positives, then told them they all deserved a holiday and left.

They joined their captain in the showers.

…

After the game, a few of the boys decided to go out for dinner in the food court, something they usually did in celebration, but today was different, and it somehow felt necessary.

Philipp dragged Xabi along by his shirt most of the way. Mesut had scarpered after the game and Xabi had watched him go feeling a horrible ache in his heart. Philipp had managed to gather a sizeable amount of the team and they ended up in the food court in the mall.

“Hey is that Mesut?” Robert piped up suddenly, and before Philipp (who had noticed Mesut long ago and wisely chosen not to say a word) or Per could do anything Xabi was following his gaze and feeling his heart sink.

Mesut was sitting with a girl, in a booth a little way away from Xabi and the boys. He had his back to them but Xabi recognised that hair, that jacket, he’d know them anywhere and it felt like a dozen kicks to the stomach. They were holding hands across the table, and the girl was laughing at something Mesut had said.

Xabi looked away quickly, feeling his ears burn, the hole in his chest caused by what had happened gaping just that bit more.  
 So that’s all he ever meant to Mesut. He’d read the game all wrong; Mesut evidently wasn’t gay, if the hand holding and laughing was anything to go by, and Xabi had screwed up colossally. He’d lost everything he’d had with Mesut, even if that had been merely platonic, all because of an assumption.

He should have made sure. They’d never really discussed sexuality at all in the time they’d been friends. It simply hadn’t come up, and he’d never thought about bringing it up. But there had been ample opportunities, even after he’d figured out his feelings, to make sure Mesut was actually gay.

Instead, Xabi had thrown himself in the deep end without a lifeline. Now Mesut was doing all the things Xabi so badly wanted to do with him, with a girl. She was pretty, Xabi registered this thought distantly.

He should have made sure. He was kicking himself for it.

How could he have been so stupid not to make sure?

In his periphery vision, he caught sight of Mesut leaning across the table and kissing the girl on the lips. It was quick, but he’d seen it. His heart was alight with jealousy, with anger, with longing and regret. He got to his feet abruptly, and Philipp tried to grab him but he twisted away. “I have to go,” he muttered, and made for the exit, tripping over his own feet.

…

Xabi did not see it, but as he hurried out the sliding doors, Mesut looked up and caught a quick glimpse of him before the night swallowed him.

The girl, Sara, who he was about to ask out on another date, followed his gaze.

“Who was that?” She asked.

Mesut’s eyes lingered on the place that Xabi had been just moments before, feeling a dull ache in his chest. He shook his head.

“No one.”

......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this has got to be my quickest update ever. Is that less than 2 weeks I see??? GO ME
> 
> Longest one in a while too. And I passed the 100k words mark what the heck??? I'm absolute trash I know
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and me messing around with the lives of our poor boys. PLEASE tell me what you thought, as I would love to know, and it will make me write faster :))))
> 
> You know you love me.
> 
> xoxo - C
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (sorry I've been watching too much gossip girl)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is so self indulgent who even knows at this point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd line. 7th word. you all know what’s going to happen. i couldn’t resist being Gerlonso trash. i’m sorry.

The Easter break could not have come at a better time for all of the boys. Miroslav was off to London, where his father was in hospital. Xabi was also going to England, but to Liverpool, with his family, as his father had a conference. He hadn’t originally chosen to go, but now that things were the way they were, he’d asked his mother to book him a ticket too. Truth be told, he was infinitely grateful to just get away from Germany, and from everything that had happened in the last week. Mario was also going away, camping with Christoph, and he too was glad to have some space from his boyfriend, who he was still arguing with.

Miro sat in the airport, by himself, his bag on the seat next to him, his phone in his hands. He was about to head for the gate that would take him to London, to his father, and something was making him dread it. There was no way he would be able to deny the reality of his father’s condition once he saw him. It still didn’t feel real, but he knew that once he stepped into that hospital it would be.

So many things had happened in the recent weeks that Miro couldn’t really believe it was real, not yet. Barely a month ago everything had been perfect, so so perfect, he should have known it was too good to be true.

He was nervous for so many reasons he was half surprised he was still holding it together. His father was one thing, his mother another, as their relationship had somewhat deteriorated in recent weeks, and he had no idea how to fix that. And his brother and sister wouldn’t be flying in until a few days later which made everything worse.

At least he had Thomas. His boyfriend had been truly amazing dealing with Miro’s shit, and Miro felt he hadn’t thanked him enough. He still felt enormously guilty for the night at his where they’d slept together, and sometimes he was so overcome with self doubt that he would slip into periods where he just wondered if Thomas was being nice to him out of pity and that maybe Thomas didn’t love him like he said he did.

These spells of panic usually ended quickly after they’d started. Miro was ever so grateful for him.

He opened his text conversation with his boyfriend. The last message had been Thomas’, telling him to get a good night’s sleep. Miro smiled a little and typed out a text.

_about to get on the plane, i’ll call when i’m there. love you xxx - miro <3_

The reply came through almost immediately, just as a voice came over the intercom.

“All passengers on Lufthansa flight 203 to London please proceed to gate 12.”

Miro looked down at his phone and smiled at the texts.

_safe flight, i miss you already x - tom <3_

_i love you too xxx - tom <3_

He got to his feet, turned off his phone and put it in his bag, then headed for the gate.

…

It was Saturday night and Mesut was in his room, trying to get some of his homework done. He’d spent the day with Sara; they’d gone to the park and fed the ducks, and he found himself being able to talk to her a lot easier than previously. He’d kissed her goodbye on her front steps, and though it had felt good, he couldn’t help but think of Xabi.

He hated that the boy was still in his thoughts. It made his skin crawl that he couldn’t evade the lingering feelings he had about his best friend. Were they even best friends? Or had Xabi only ever wanted something else?

Everything made him doubt anything that had ever been between them. He felt used. He felt guilty. He felt ever so conflicted and confused.

He shut his books and rolled onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling in despair. A few minutes passed and he just lay there, then his mind went back to Xabi and he reached for his phone, trying to find a way to get him off his mind. He opened Instagram and was met with a post from Xabi at the top of his feed. Luck was not on his side.

The caption was simply a plane emoji, and a UK flag emoji. Mesut could see the destination on the ticket peeking out of Xabi’s passport; Liverpool. The older boy hadn’t mentioned _anything_ about Liverpool to him before they had fallen out.

Mesut felt a pang in his heart, and all the thoughts came rushing back.

He was in two minds, so distinct from each other that he truly had no idea what his real feelings were. He missed Xabi, he knew that much. He was also hurt, and sad, and angry, and it was all really just too overwhelming for him to think about.

He’d never even imagined that Xabi might like him like that. It had not once crossed his mind. He tried to think back, wondered if Xabi had been at all obvious in his feelings and maybe it was Mesut who had been the ignorant one in not picking it up, but he came up with nothing. He had truly, honestly, thought that they were just friends.

A memory came to him, from the night it had all gone wrong, of looking at Benni and Mats on the sofa, after Xabi had disappeared. He’d watched them for a while.

Mats had looked at Benni like he was the only star in the sky. Mesut remembered that Benni had looked the same way, although still there was a sense of almost incredulity in the pianist’s gaze, like he still couldn’t quite believe that the other boy was his boyfriend.

As he thought about them, his heart ached ever still for Xabi. He remembered the confessions his friend had made, the sincerity of the words that told Mesut that no, this wasn’t a joke. He wondered if Xabi looked at him like Mats looked at Benni, and he had missed it completely. Thinking about that just made him feel sad. He looked down at his phone.

A second photo had been posted, a selfie, of Xabi and his brother, and it just made Mesut question everything all over again. It was clear the Spaniard had not shaved in a while as he had a light dusting of stubble on his cheeks, and Mesut realised distantly that he looked very good like this.

Images exploded in Mesut’s mind, kissing Xabi, running his fingers through that hair, feeling the graze of his stubble on his skin -

He threw his phone at his bed, and rolled off it, pacing back and forth, feeling himself shaking. Suddenly, he slammed his hands down on the table. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to push the thoughts out of his mind.

_I’m not gay_ , he told himself. _I’m not gay._

He tried to drill the thought into his head, but there was a numb feeling inside of him.

He just wanted Xabi.

Not even in a romantic or sexual sense. Maybe he did want that, he had no idea, but he knew that he just wanted to be around the boy who had fast become his best friend. He’d always felt so at ease around the Spaniard, had trusted him with everything until what had happened. Now he felt so lonely, and even worse because he knew he’d brought that feeling upon himself. It really was his fault that they were fighting. He hadn’t needed to have had such a dramatic reaction, he knew that. Yes, he felt used, and taken advantage of. But the way he’d treated Xabi after the boy’s confession…

They’d both been drunk. He remembered that clearly. But it wouldn’t have made it any easier to say the words that Xabi had. And god, Mesut had treated him like _shit_.

He was shaking terribly at the realisation of his mistakes, so badly that he had to sit down again. He held his hands in his lap and willed himself to calm down, because he was already feeling like shit and a panic attack would just make everything worse. He wanted Xabi.

It didn’t last long. He was able to breathe evenly after a few seconds of panic and he reached for his phone. There was a text from Sara.

_hey :) x – Sara_

Mesut stared at the text, then opened his conversation with Xabi instead. The last text had been from Xabi, the day after Miro’s party, to which Mesut had not replied to.

_Mesut, I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what I was thinking, taking advantage of you like that, but I meant what I said. I’m sorry if this upsets you but it’s how I feel and I can’t change that - xabs_

Mesut had ignored the text when he’d received it. Now he felt awful for doing so.

His head hurt. His heart hurt even more. Everything was so confusing and he just wished they could go back to how it was before, but he knew that wasn’t possible. He wasn’t sure whether it was he who was mad at Xabi, or Xabi mad at him but he knew one thing was certain; he’d fucked everything up, and it was all his fault.

…

Erik was totally unprepared when he opened the door to find Marco Reus on his front step. He was wearing a pair of rather disgustingly old sweatpants and a t shirt with various holes in it. Marco, meanwhile, looked very good, as he always did. Furthermore, Erik suddenly realised he hadn’t showered that morning, and also that his hair was a complete mess.

Marco shifted nervously on the doorstep. He had his hands in his pockets and looked a bit tired. He tried to smile at Erik but it came out as more of a grimace. “Hi.” With that one word, Erik fell in love with him all over again.

“Uh… hey,” Erik replied quietly, his cheeks flushing. The end of his reply rose up like a question. He truly had no idea why Marco was here.

“Could I… Could we maybe talk?” Marco asked.

“Um… yeah, okay.” They stood there and stared at each other.

“Maybe not on the front doorstep?” Marco laughed awkwardly.

“Okay. Come in.”

Marco followed him into the house and down to Erik’s room.

The younger boy sat down on his bed, motioning for Marco to take the chair at the desk.

“Um … how are you?” Marco asked tentatively.

“Not bad. Yourself?”

“Yeah, alright I suppose.”

There was another silence, then Erik sighed. “What do you want, Marco?”

“I still want to be friends, if you’ll let me. Please, Erik.”

Erik hesitated, looking at Marco carefully. “Nothing has changed with me, you know that right?” he said. “I still feel the same way.”

“I know. But I want our friendship back. Please.” He looked pretty desperate, and Erik didn’t know what to think.

He sighed. “It’s best if we’re not friends, Marco. I’m sure you know that too.”

“But I don’t want what’s best! I want my best friend back!”

“Marco…”

“Mario said that we aren’t best friends but I know we still are!”

“So you’re doing this to prove something to Mario?” Erik was a bit hurt at that.

“No, god no, of course not. Well I mean, yes partly, but I’m mainly doing it because I want my best friend back. I miss you, Erik.”

“You didn’t seem to care at all about me when you were off getting together with Mario.” It was a self-indulgent and unnecessary comment, but Erik felt good saying his true feelings. Marco looked taken aback, and rather upset.

“I’m sorry, Erik, god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how you felt and I didn’t realise…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Erik said simply.

There was a pause, and Marco gazed at him, a pleading look in his eyes. “Erik… You’ve been my best friend since we were young. I don’t want that to change.”

“But it already has, Marco.” The words hurt Erik, just admitting the fact that things never would be the same again.

Marco shook his head, screwing his eyes shut and Erik suddenly realised just how emotional he was about this. “Please!” he begged. “Even just friends, Erik. Just some remnant of what we used to be.”

“There is no ‘we’ Marco. There’s you and Mario. And I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“You won’t!” Marco protested. “Please Erik!”

“I just don’t know if it’s going to work, Mar.” The nickname slipped out before he could stop himself, and at the sound of it, Marco froze. He looked at Erik desperately, then up at the ceiling, then back down, and Erik saw there were tears in his eyes.

“Fuck,” the older boy swore. “Please.”

Erik didn’t say anything, but it was enough of an answer.

Marco visibly slumped, dragging a hand across his eyes. He made for the door, then turned around, looking at Erik one more time. “If you change your mind, you know where I am,” he said softly, and with that he left, leaving Erik questioning everything all over again.

…

“Have you made up with Lukas yet?” Philipp wouldn’t stop asking Bastian that question. They were at the older boy’s house playing FIFA this time, and Bastian tossed the controller on the bed in exasperation.

“If I had, I would have told you, Fips,” he sighed.

“Have you even seen him since Miro’s?”

“Why would I have?”

“He’s your best friend.”

Bastian looked at him like he was an idiot. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re currently ignoring each other, so I can’t exactly ring him up and say ‘hey, Luki, do you wanna hang out today!’ can I?”

Philipp rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you just try to talk to him?”

“Because I don’t want to. Maybe it’s better if we’re just not friends. Then I don’t have to risk him finding out about everything and hating me even more.”

Philipp frowned. “He doesn’t hate you, Basti. And you guys have been best friends for so long, you must have got through fights in the past.”

“Not like this.”

“Why don’t you just text him, and ask if you guys could hang out or something?”

“Why can’t he text me?” Bastian was, as always, stubborn.

“God, you two and your stupid pride!” Philipp exclaimed, totally exasperated.

“He started it, he should text me.”

“He did not start it, both of you are at fault here, and I know you know that, Bastian.”

Bastian looked away, because he knew that Philipp was right.

“Just text him,” Philipp urged him, gently.

Bastian shook his head. “Can we just stop talking about it, please?”

Philipp contested this for a second, but then decided it was better that he dropped the subject, and the two returned to playing FIFA in silence.

However, later when Philipp had gone, Bastian did deliberate whether to text his friend or not. He had the message all typed out, a simple ‘ _hey, could we talk?_ ’ but he lacked the courage to send it. It sat there, and he spent the night wondering whether to send it or not. He still wanted Lukas to be the one to approach him, seeing as he still believed that Lukas was the one who had started it, not him. But then, he supposed, it had all been blown way too far out of proportion for either of them to lay the blame on the other.

In a selfish way, he felt entitled to say that them not talking was taking a greater toll on him rather than Lukas. He was still trying to rationalise his feelings for his friend, and it made everything worse when your best friend who was ignoring you also happened to be your crush.

Bastian hated that word. Lukas wasn’t a crush, but then he had no idea what Lukas was, only that the feelings Bastian had for him were strong, stronger than he’d ever felt for any girl.

He picked up his phone. The message was still there. He stared at it for a bit, then made a decision.

Summoning all the courage in him, Bastian hit send. He watched the little bubble pop up on the screen, and instantly felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Then he felt very, very anxious.

What if Lukas never replied and he just looked like an idiot?

For the next hour, Bastian checked his phone every five minutes, and there was still no reply. It was late, he reasoned, past midnight, and there was a likelihood that Lukas wasn’t even awake. But still, he felt his stomach doing somersaults as he waited for a reply.

Finally, at nearly one in the morning, Bastian checked his phone for the last time to no avail, then fell into a dreamless sleep.

…

When Toni came round, it was clear he had news to share, but Erik bet him to it. “Marco came round earlier today,” Erik said, and Toni looked at him, flabbergasted. “He said he still wanted to be friends.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I didn’t really tell him anything, to be honest.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no idea how us being ‘friends’ is supposed to work when his boyfriend hates my guts.”

Toni looked thoughtful. “Well, Mario said that Marco’s confused about everything. It was like he thought that Marco had feelings for you or something!”

“Wait, what?” This was news to Erik.

“Mario said that now Marco knew about your feelings he was having second thoughts about them!”

Erik stared at him. “No, no way.”

“Yes way.”

“Fuck, Toni, if this is a joke I swear to god – “

“I’m not joking!”

Erik was overwhelmed. Maybe Marco liked him back! Maybe Marco felt the same way, Marco might give him a chance –

And then he came back down to earth. He knew that he could never break the other two up, that would be pure cruelty on his part. It wasn’t fair. Erik had had his chance and he hadn’t taken it, and he was in no position to be entitled to anything, especially if he was the reason for their relationship problems.

“Maybe him coming over this morning was trying to start something between you!” Toni said enthusiastically, but Erik’s expression sent the hope sliding off his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Toni… I can’t.”

Toni was looking at him in utter disbelief. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, and - ”

“The boy you’ve been in love with for the past five years might have feelings for you and you’re saying you’re not going after him?”

“I can’t break them up. That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“You know I can’t do that Toni. Marco would hate me forever.”

“No he wouldn’t because you guys would be dating and - ”

“Toni. I can’t, and I won’t, break them up.”

Toni was quiet for a few seconds then he just shrugged and sighed. “You’re such a good person, Erik. Sometimes you’re too good.”

“Would you break them up if you were in my position?”

“Yes. Without a second thought.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “No you wouldn’t. And anyway, all this stuff is based on speculation. I have no idea what Marco feels.”

“Yeah but don’t you want to get back at Götze?”

“No, Toni, I don’t.”

“I do.”

“What’s he ever done to you?”

“It’s more the fact he exists.”

“That’s brutal, even for you, Toni.”

Toni just laughed.

…

Miro got home from his first day at the hospital and the first thing he did was go to his room to call Thomas. He was physically exhausted and emotionally drained, and he just wanted to talk to his boyfriend. Thomas picked up on what could have been the last ring.

“Hey you,” his boyfriend’s voice came down the line and Miro knew he had a smile on his face just from the lilt of his tone. It made Miro want to smile too, but he felt numb. “How are you?” 

“I’m alright,” Miro sighed.

“How was it?” Thomas’ voice softened in a way that Miroslav fell in love with over and over again. He knew he was so lucky to see this side of Thomas, his Thomas who was usually so crazy, so rambunctious.

“Shit. It just kinda… I don’t know. It’s very real all of a sudden and it just hit me like a fucking train all at once.”

Thomas made a noise of acknowledgment, which Miro took to mean he should keep going. He supposed it was good to talk about everything.

“It’s like… It’s so clear he’s sick. He’s not good at all and it’s scary and I don’t even think being here is a good idea sometimes because it just makes me feel like shit, but then I want to be there for his last days you know?” He could hear his voice audibly crack and knew he sounded a bit of a wreck.

“Yeah, I understand,” Thomas said gently. “And I think it’s good you are there, because like you said, you’re there for him.”

“Mm, I suppose,” Miro replied. “I just hate to see him like that because all the time I’m there I’m thinking this is the end or that this could be the last time I see him and it just makes everything shitty.”

“I know.” 

“And I can’t fucking deal with my mum either, even though I’m supposed to be there for her too, she’s just miserable! Everyone’s fucking miserable, and I hate the situation we’re in and it sucks so fucking much!” 

His voice had risen and his breathing quickened and there was a silence as he panted down the phone, blinking back the hot angry tears that sprung to his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas said quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” Miro choked out. It was silent for a little while then Miro said; “I wish you were here.”

“Oh Miro,” Thomas said. “I wish I could be there with you.”

“I miss you,” Miro croaked. Tears leaked from his eyes and down his cheeks, and he longed for Thomas, longed for his boyfriend to wrap his arms around him and hold him, like he’d done so many times over the past weeks. He felt vulnerable, shaky and unstable without Thomas, and sometimes he got the feeling that Thomas didn’t realise just how much he was doing for Miroslav.

“I miss you too baby.”

“I wish you were here,” Miro said again, his voice shaking. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can, okay, you can do it. You’re so strong and I know you can do it. Your dad knows you can do it.”

Miro screwed his eyes shut and felt a few more tears trickle down his cheeks.

“I love you,” Thomas said softly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Miro replied.

There was a bit of a pause then Miro sighed.

“I’m really tired, so I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Okay.”

“It was good to talk to you.”

“Stay strong for me, baby. I love you.”

“Love you too. Goodnight.”

“Night Miro. Sleep well.”

And with that the dial tone sounded, Miro shut his eyes, too drained to move, and he fell asleep right there, still fully clothed, wishing tomorrow might be better.

…

Ever since his talk with Erik, Marco had been feeling like shit. He was so confused, and he just wanted to forget about everything, about his boyfriend, his best friend, and Toni fucking Kroos meddling with his life. He was in sweatpants and an old hoodie, but got changed into more respectable clothing and decided he’d go down to the pub for a drink.

“I’m going out, Ma,” he told his mother. If she’d objected, he didn’t hear it, he was already out the door.

The pub he ended up in was on the outskirts of town, just around the corner from Mario’s place. He gave the house a pointed glare as he drove past. He didn’t care if that was pathetic, it felt good, and he was fed up with everything - he could glare at whatever he wanted to glare at.

People milled around, drinking and talking and laughing, the band in the corner cranking out some old rock tune; it was particularly busy for a Tuesday night. Marco seated himself at the bar and asked for a beer. He must have looked like shit as the girl who poured it for him shot him a sympathetic smile. He did not return it.

An hour and 3 beers later he was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. He swung around on his seat and surveyed the customers.

Robert Lewandowski had just walked through the door. His hood was up but Marco knew it was him. The footballer did not notice him, instead took a seat a little way down, and asked for a drink.

Marco spent the next half an hour watching the other boy get a little drunk, until he finally made his way over.

“Reus,” Robert said, a smirk pulling at his lips as he looked Marco up and down. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? Don’t you live up on the other side of town?”

Marco shrugged. “Needed to get away.”

“I feel you, mate.”

“Why are you here, and getting so drunk so quickly?”

“Manuel’s fucked off on holiday and we’re still fighting.”

“Dude, my boyfriend’s on holiday too and we’re fighting.”

“Maybe they’re in the same bloody campsite,” Robert said darkly. He took a swig of his beer. “I’m fucking done with all this drama. We’re not even in a proper relationship. I just fuck him and he sends me pictures of his dick to wank with.”

Marco felt a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t really want to know the specifics of Robert and Manuel’s relationship, but the brunet carried on.

“You’d think there’d be nothing to fight about, but somehow he’s all fucking pissed off at me and won’t tell me why, and you know I don’t even care?” He slammed his drink down on the counter. “I don’t give a shit what he’s feeling. We fuck. I thought that was all.”

“Maybe he wants more?” Marco asked tentatively.

“Well he’s looking in the wrong goddamn place,” Robert scowled. He drained his glass, and motioned to the bartender for another. “Anyway, you and Götze fighting? Thought you were and him were happily ever after, Prince Charmings and all that crap.”

Marco looked at him, bemused.

“That sounded better in my head,” Robert conceded, grinning, and Marco realised he was really quite good looking when he smiled. Then he wondered why he’d even made that realisation. “But seriously, dude, you guys not working out?”

Marco sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m all ears for some good drama,” Robert smiled. “Is it to do with that Erik kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Two shots of tequila,” Robert told the bartender. “On me,” he grinned at Marco. “Now talk.”

Marco sighed, then picked up the shot glass, looking at it apprehensively.

“Come on,” Robert cajoled, leaning to clink his against Marco’s and then knocking it back.

Marco shrugged and did the same, shuddering as the alcohol burned his throat. “Fuck,” he winced, and Robert was laughing.

“It’ll loosen your tongue. Now talk.”

…

It had been a good day for Benni. His mother had left early for work and he woke late from a very good sleep to a text from his boyfriend making his phone buzz on the bedside table.

_hey babe, wanna see a movie or something today? xxxxx – matsi_

Benni grinned and texted back.

_i’d love to :D xxxx – benni_

_i’ll pick you up in an hour, sound good? xxx – matsi_

_yep, see you soon!! xxx - benni_

He spent the next hour lounging around watching a cooking show on his laptop while he got ready, and when Mats came to pick him up, he must have seemed very chipper as the footballer commented “You’re in a good mood today,” and pecked him on the forehead, Benni’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“You can tell?” Benni replied, grinning up at him.

“To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you grin so much sober.”

Benni laughed and shrugged. “My mum had already gone when I woke up. I’ve had a good morning.”

“Good,” Mats smiled and kissed him quickly on the lips. “What movie do you want to see?”

They ended up going to a new sci-fi action one that had just come out, and Benni’s good mood lasted even longer.

Later, they were in the back seat of the footballer’s car, kissing slowly and Benni couldn’t help but smile and giggle through the kisses.

“You know,” Mats broke away from him, cupping Benni’s cheek with his hand and running his thumb softly down the skin. “You’re kinda hard to kiss when you’re smiling so much. Even though I’m glad you’re in a good mood.”

Benni just chuckled and kissed him again, more enthusiastically this time, locking his arms around Mats’ neck and feeling the urge to grin when he felt Mats pull him further into his lap, his boyfriend’s hands sliding up under his shirt, running across the planes of his back. Benni shivered at the touch, and giggled a little, earning an exasperated sigh from Mats before the footballer kissed him again, properly, quickly this time, not enough time for Benni to laugh again.

It got more and more heated, more tongue and teeth and soon Mats was pulling at Benni’s top, and then they were both shirtless, and Mats was kissing him so frantically that Benni felt a coil of arousal in his stomach. He ran his hands down Mats’ chest as the footballer kissed at his neck, teeth nipping at the skin eliciting moans from Benni’s lips. Mats was hard, Benni knew this because he could feel him pressed against him, and it was turning him on like crazy.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Mats murmured, his hands gliding over Benni’s skin, his pupils were blown and he looked flustered, his hair a mess and his lips red. Benni dove down and kissed him again, and felt Mats’ hands travel south. They slipped under the waistband of his trousers, and groped at his ass, and Benni was really getting worked up.

Mats brought his hands around and began to tug at the fly of Benni’s jeans and Benni felt his heart begin to beat faster. They were still kissing, and Benni let Mats do what he wanted, bringing his own hands up to fist in his boyfriend’s hair.

And then Mats’ phone rang from the front seat. They both stilled, breaking away from each other and Benni let his head thud back against the car door.

Mats leaned across to look at the screen, and saw it was his mother. “Fucking hell,” he sighed, climbing rather ungracefully into the front seat and accepting the call. “Hello?” Benni giggled at the exasperation in his voice. Mats smiled at him and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he’s here. Okay I’ll ask him.” Mats pulled the phone away from his ear and turned to Benni. “My mum wants to know if you want to come for dinner?”

Benni nodded. “I’d love to, if it’s okay?”

“Cool. Yeah Mama, he’ll come,” he said into the phone. “Yeah I can get that. Okay. See you later. Bye.” He hung up and turned to grin at Benni. “You get to meet my dad.”

The pianist ran a hand through his hair. “That’s got me kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Mats leaned across and kissed him quickly. “He already loves you from what my mum has said about you.”

Benni blushed. There was a short spell of silence as they looked at each other. Benni broke it, motioning between them. “Are we gonna… I mean… We – I - ”

“Later, yeah?” Mats said, and Benni, more than a little disappointed, buttoned up his fly.

They helped Eva clean up and get dinner ready when they got back to Mats’ house. Mats was chatting away, and Benni tried not to reveal how nervous he was to meet Mats’ dad.

Of course, Mats knew what was up. He wrapped his arms around Benni’s waist from behind and kissed his neck quickly. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m just nervous,” Benni mumbled.

“Don’t be. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Okay.”

And Mats was right, he didn’t have to worry about anything. Mats’ father Patrick was just as lovely as his mother, and spent a lot of time chatting to Benni about his music, revealing he’d played the clarinet when he was young.

“I tried to get this one to learn when he was little, but he just wanted to play footy,” Patrick said, motioning to Mats and laughing heartily. “Never had a hope in hell of getting him into music.”

Benni looked at Mats, laughing and wondering if it might have been very different had Mats been a musician like he was.

Mats chuckled. “I tried to play the piano once and Benni got fed up with me within five minutes because I kept pushing the pedals when he was trying to show me what to do.”

“Always a right pain in the ass, isn’t he?” Patrick smirked, getting a roll of the eyes from his son.

“Thanks, dad.” Mats excused himself for a minute to go to the bathroom, and Eva quickly looked to see that he’d gone before smiling at Benni.

“We’re so glad you two are so happy,” she said. “You’re a wonderful influence on him. I found him doing homework the other day for a good few hours, and he said it was because he wanted to impress you.”

Benni blushed, and felt a tingly feeling at the fact that Mats wanted to impress him.

“And, he seems very serious about you,” Eva continued. “So we’d love to meet your parents sometime.”

Benni looked down at his plate, blushing even more. “My mum… doesn’t support me being gay. So, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.” He looked up in time to see Eva and Patrick share a quick look.

“What about your father?” Patrick asked tentatively.

“He left when I was younger. Or my mum left him. I have no idea where he is.” He looked down at his plate again, pushing the remaining sauce from the casserole around his plate. It was silent for a second or two, then Eva spoke.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

“Listen, son,” Patrick said. “You’re always welcome here, okay?”

Benni looked up and smiled at him, gratefully. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Hey Mama, is there dessert?” Mats had returned, wiping his hands on his jeans, oblivious to the conversation that had just played out. Benni busied himself in refilling his glass of water – he could feel Patrick’s eyes on him – while Eva quickly nodded and took Mats into the kitchen with her to get whatever they were having next.

“I do mean it,” Patrick said when they’d gone. “Any time, if anything is happening you can always come here.”

Benni nodded, unable really to express how grateful he was. “Thank you.”

Patrick smiled at him, and Benni couldn’t really believe that he deserved such kindness from someone he’d just met. He thanked the heavens for Mats Hummels and his family, and smiled back.

…

Marco wasn’t sure just how much tequila was in his system, but he knew one thing; he was very drunk.

Talking about their respective partners had required a large amount of alcohol, and when they’d cleared their systems of all their frustrations, Robert had dragged him onto the dance floor.

The band in the corner had long since departed and now there was a pounding electric beat coming from the speakers. Dancing was not really a word Marco would have used to describe what they were doing. It was hot and sticky and there were so many people packed close to the ear-splitting speakers.

Robert had his hands on Marco’s waist and was pressed up against him; Marco distantly realised that this was very, very wrong - he had a boyfriend, they both did – but he also realised he didn’t care. The way Robert was holding him felt so good, and the way he grinded against Marco in time to the music meant that in his very drunken state, most of Marco’s reasoning flew out the window and he was just enjoying himself immensely.

He’d never really noticed just how attractive Robert was. While he found Mario very attractive, it was in a different way; where Mario was all cute smile and chubby cheeks, Robert was rough, all hard edges and defined cheekbones and Marco had been to football games where the Pole hadn’t refrained from putting his toned body on display. That 8-pack was currently pressed against Marco, Robert rolling his body in time with the music.

There was no doubt that Robert’s behaviour was not a coincidence. Yes, they were drunk. But the way Robert had pulled him by the hand, the way his hands fell so easily into place on Marco’s waist, it made him think that maybe Robert had other intentions. And for some reason unknown, Marco did not take any issue with that. In fact, he was rather pleased.

The song changed, to an old nineties hit and Robert spun him round so they were facing each other. He was grinning at Marco as he moved his body, and Marco couldn’t help stare at him as he danced. It was really quite impressive, the fluidity with which he moved his hips and just how at home he looked on the dance floor. Marco had never been very good at dancing. But Robert, Robert was something else and Marco couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Robert grinned lewdly at him, raising an eyebrow and moving closer Marco, beckoning for the blonde to reciprocate. Marco shuffled closer to him and Robert’s hands were back on his waist.

And Marco was ever so confused.

_Mario. Robert._

_Erik? Erik._

_Robert. Robert fucking Lewandowski and his god damn hips._

_Mario. His boyfriend._

But Marco was drunk and this was the defining factor. There was no denying now that he found Robert very, very attractive. And he just wanted to have fun. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, and wrapped his arms around Robert’s neck, pulling the Pole even closer to him. Robert kept smirking, and kept moving those hips, and Marco finally let go, and lost himself in the beat of the song, and the eyes of the boy he really shouldn’t have been anywhere near.

…

“I had a crush on you for so long,” Benni said absentmindedly, his hands fiddling with the hem of Mats’ shirt. After dessert, they’d helped tidy up and then Mats had excused them and pulled him upstairs. Benni was hoping they’d carry on from where they’d been interrupted in the car earlier, but for now, they were just cuddling.

Mats looked down at him a little incredulously. “Really?”

“Mhm. Pretty much since the first day at Weisburg when you came into our first class soaking wet and half an hour late. I later found out you were god damn infuriating but I remember the first thing I thought was that you were so good looking.”

“You seriously remember that?” Mats laughed softly, bringing his hand up to sweep Benni’s fringe off his face.

“Yeah,” Benni replied.

“I feel bad because I didn’t really know who you were until the beginning of this year. And up until the project I kinda thought your name was Benjamin…”

“You fucker,” Benni hit him and pushed him away.

“Sorry,” Mats giggled.

“God you really are the arrogant footballer sometimes.”

“Hey, you don’t really mean that do you?”

Benni glared at him, and tried to maintain it for longer than a few seconds but the way Mats was smiling at him meant he couldn’t help but smile as well and let himself be pulled back into his boyfriend’s arms. “Benjamin,” Benni pouted, and gave him an affectionate punch to the stomach.

Mats winced, but was only out of action for a second before he wrapped his arms around Benni from behind and grabbed the pianist’s hands so he couldn’t move them. “In my defense,” he said pecking a kiss to Benni’s neck. “Benjamin and Benedikt are pretty similar.”

“You don’t see me thinking your name was Matt!” Benni said, outraged.

Mats just shrugged his shoulders as if it was excusable. Benni gave him a very derisive look and elbowed him playfully in the stomach. This, however, seemed to be a mistake as Mats lunged at him and started tickling him until he was gasping for air.

“No! Mats – no – oh my – n-n-no!” He couldn’t stop laughing; Mats had him pinned to the bed, and finally stopped, leaning down to kiss him. Benni responded enthusiastically, but his heart was pounding. He was sure Mats could feel it, given how closely they were pressed against each other.

Benni had hoped they’d get to this, but after they’d lost their shirts and Mats moved to unbutton Benni’s jeans, he was suddenly very nervous, and was having second thoughts.

“Mats – I – are we going to do this?”

Mats stilled and looked at him carefully. “Only if you want to, baby.”

“I do – I just… Your parents. I feel weird,” he broke off, blushing ten shades of red and looking away. It must have looked like he was chickening out, because Mats rolled off him and fell onto his back, lying next to Benni on the bed. It was quiet for a few seconds and Benni was so embarrassed by it all that he just wanted to curl up and die.

They lay there, and they didn’t speak for a good minute.

“I’m sorry,” Benni whispered eventually.

Mats sat up, looking down at him and Benni didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“No, baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you like that.”

Benni finally drew the courage to look at him. “You weren’t – I just – I feel weird with your parents downstairs and like - ” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing they haven’t heard before,” Mats said wryly, then realised this probably wasn’t the best thing to say when he knew that Benni was insecure about the fact that they differed so much in experience. “Are you ready to do stuff, because if you’re not, we don’t have to okay?”

Benni felt his heart swell in appreciation for his boyfriend. Sitting upright, he nodded tentatively. “I think I am.”

“You’ve got to be sure, sweetheart.” Mats was deadly serious. “I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“No, no, I want to do it. Just not tonight.”

“Okay.”

Benni still felt like he’d disappointed Mats, and looked down quickly.

“Hey, don’t look so upset, beautiful.” Mats scooted towards him and wrapped his arm around Benni’s shoulders.

Benni sighed. “I feel like I always let you down with this stuff. Like, we’ve been together since December and we haven’t gone further than kissing and I hate that I don’t know what to do because I want to make you happy and - ” He was blabbering now and Mats quickly silenced him by pressing a kiss to his lips.

When they broke apart, Benni was looking at him in such honest surprise that Mats fell even harder for him than he’d done before.

“You make me so happy, Benni,” Mats said quietly. “Never, _ever_ , think that I’m not happy with you, because right now I’m the happiest guy on Earth, and nothing will ever change that, okay?” He tilted Benni’s chin up with his fingers. “Okay?” He repeated, more demanding this time, and Benni nodded. Mats continued; “I want you to be ready if we do go further, and I don’t care how long it takes you to be ready because I’ll always be here and I’ll always be happy so long as I’ve got you. That’s all that matters Benni. I could suck a thousand dicks and it would all pale in comparison to any single minute I could spend with you.”

Benni chuckled quietly.

“I realise that wasn’t the most serious way of putting it,” Mats conceded, and Benni laughed again. “But I want you to know – no, I need you to know – that I’m so serious about that. I’m serious about you, about us, and I don’t care about anything else so long as it means I get to call you mine.”

Benni looked rather taken aback, and Mats realised that the boy had probably never had someone tell him the things Mats was telling him. He felt angry that no one ever had before, but he also felt so infinitely grateful that he got to experience all of Benni’s ‘firsts’. He wanted nothing more than to tell Benni he loved him, but at the same time he felt that it was something his boyfriend would need a little more time before he heard. But he did, he loved this boy so much that it hurt. And all he wanted was for Benni to be happy.

A smile found its way onto Benni’s face, but he still looked a little perplexed, and Mats fell in love with him all over again.

“I mean it, you dork,” Mats said, and kissed him, soft and slow and trying to convey everything he’d just said in kiss form, just to make sure Benni got the message.

Benni realised he was in love with him too. It hit him like a train, a feeling he’d never experienced before came over him all at once. There was no way he was able to articulate that to Mats, not yet, but he knew, he knew that he was in love with this stupid boy and he couldn’t do anything about it, but that he was so, so lucky.

So they both stayed silent, and kissed and touched each other so carefully it was like the other was made of glass, and when Mats dropped him home that night, Benni went to sleep for the first time without giving thought to his mother in the other room; he could only think of Mats, and how lucky he was.

…

They left around 3 in the morning. Marco was completely off his face, and Robert had to wrap his arm around his waist in order to keep him upright – not that he was complaining. Robert himself was pretty drunk too, but was able to have enough sense to steer Marco away from his car.

“No way are you driving,” he told the blonde. “Leave the car. We can taxi, come on.”

He dragged Marco by the hand out into the street, and felt a sudden spark shoot through him from where they were touching. Robert had thoroughly enjoyed their night. He hadn’t even looked at the musician twice before that night, but now he had he was suddenly unable to look away.

He’d dropped a bucketload of hints over the last few hours. If grinding on him hadn’t been enough to show Marco his intentions, he didn’t know what was.

Marco leaned into him as they waited on the curb. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“We’re drunk, Reus, and at least I can walk in a straight line.”

Marco just giggled adorably and hopped in the cab when Robert told him to. (Robert didn’t refrain from ogling his ass as he climbed in.)

In the car Marco was very clingy. “Where are we going?” he whined, leaning his head against Robert’s shoulder.

“Home. My place. Don’t want to be disturbing your parents now, do we?”

Marco grinned lopsidedly and shook his head. His hands were wandering. He was trying to wrap his arm around Robert, and failing, so Robert put him out of his misery and snaked his own arm round the blonde. Marco leaned into him, his other arm slung across Robert’s tummy.

Robert watched Marco’s hand as it made its way under his shirt. The blonde grinned up at him, his head falling forwards, and for a second Robert thought he was going down to do something else, but it seemed Marco just couldn’t keep his balance. Robert hauled him up, and his head found it’s way back onto Robert’s shoulder. Suddenly, Robert felt something warm and wet against his skin.

Marco was kissing his neck. Very sloppily.

Robert let out a moan, and pulled the blonde into his lap. Even drunk, Marco was doing everything right.

There was no doubt that Robert found him very good looking. He was small, and Robert felt like he was the dominant one, something he didn’t get with Manuel, who tended to be very sexually dominant. He looked like a bit of a fuckboy, with his hair all blonde and long on the top and short on the sides, but he was a very good looking fuckboy, and he was a very eager one.

And god, the things he was doing to Robert with just his mouth gave the Pole so many ideas. He wanted Marco so bad. All thoughts of Manuel were gone, all that mattered was the boy sucking on his neck. Robert felt something stir in him.

The cab came to a sudden halt and Marco’s lips detached from Robert’s neck. He shuffled away from Robert and smiled, all coy and cute, then tried to open his door. It took him a few tries and then he was out on the footpath and wandering up Robert’s driveway.

“Sorry, I’ll just be one second,” he told the driver, and got out, hurrying over to Marco and walking him up the steps.

“Wait here,” Robert instructed, rushing back to the cab and handing over some notes. His brain was addled by alcohol but he still knew what he was about to do. “Thanks,” he told the driver then stumbled back to Marco who was swaying dangerously on the front step.

“Lewyyyyyy,” Marco whined. Robert unlocked the door and pushed him inside, taking a quick look behind him before following. Marco was looking up at him through his eyelashes with an expectant look on his face. Robert locked the door, then, as he’d been wanting to do all night, he shoved the blonde up against the wall and kissed him right on the mouth.

…

Xabi had landed in Liverpool that morning, and had spent the day at home, lounging around in his sweatpants and watching English television. As it began to get dark, he decided he might as well have a look around at night, see if there were any good places to go while he was in Liverpool. He was starting to really like the city, even if its people were a little hard to understand.

He walked down by the river, popping his head into a few bars, and buying a portion of chips from a street vendor. Eventually, he ended up in a little pub just around the corner from his house. He sat at the bar, finishing his chips, watching the game on the tv screen.

He’d done pretty well that day. Despite all the time alone with his mind he’d hardly spared any thought for Mesut. Saying that, thinking about this fact did make him think of the boy back in Germany, but Xabi reasoned that it was good to reflect on his progress.

Though it didn’t feel anywhere near like he was getting over Mesut, he felt a bit better about things. His mind wasn’t so hung up on him, he was able to think straight without reliving those horrible memories from that night, and he could start moving on.

It was good that he could get away from all of it. If he’d been in Germany there was every chance he’d run into Mesut, or his apparent girlfriend. And he really did quite like Liverpool.

“Can I get you anything?” A strong Scouse accent cut through his thoughts and Xabi’s head snapped up in surprise. He was faced with a young man, who looked to be around the same age as Xabi, dressed in the bar staff uniform. He was holding a cleaning cloth and a glass, and was smiling expectantly at Xabi.

All of a sudden, Xabi completely forgot how to speak English. He was just staring at the boy, transfixed for some reason, unable to string two words together. “Si,” he muttered, then wanted to kick himself. Spanish? Not even German? What was wrong with him?

“Sorry what was that?” The Scouser asked, looking a bit baffled. He had a soft voice, not as brassy as some of the other Liverpudlians he’d heard speak.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He finally found his English, but couldn’t help but blush furiously. “I’m not from around here.”

“I see,” the boy nodded, then held out a hand. “Well I’m Steven Gerrard," he said, and Xabi shook it.

"Stevie!" A voice yelled, carrying the same Scouse accent as the boy in front of Xabi. A boy skidded to a halt next to them, took one look at Xabi and said "Oh, I'll leave you to it mate."

"As I was about to say, call me Stevie, all my mates do."

Xabi liked the way he said mate, and even more the way that Steven - Stevie - was smiling at him.

"Xabi," Xabi replied. “Xabi Alonso. I don't speak English very well, sorry."

"You sound just fine to me. Where are you from, Xabi?"

"Spain, but I live in Germany."

"And what brings you here?"

"My parents. My father has a... How do you say... Conference?"

"Yeah."

"And my mother wanted to make it a holiday also."

"Do you want a drink? If I serve ya I can keep talking."

"Yes, please."

"Beer? Fizzy? Tap water?”

“A beer please.” He reached for his wallet. “How much…?”

Stevie waved him away. “On me, don’t worry.”

Xabi smiled bashfully and tried to hand over a note – he had no idea which one as English money was very confusing – but Stevie just pushed it back to him. “I said on me,” he laughed. “Don’t want to let me buy you a drink?”

Xabi blushed crimson.

Stevie flashed a row of pearly white teeth at him and poured him his beer from the tap. “Gotta treat the tourists right, don’t I? Especially if they’re cute.”

If possible, Xabi turned an even darker shade of red and mumbled something that Stevie didn’t hear. The Scouser was still grinning and Xabi wanted to wipe it off his rather attractive face. He busied himself in taking a sip of his beer, but he could feel Stevie watching him.

Thankfully, when he looked up again, Stevie was serving another customer, but when that was finished he scooted back along the bar to Xabi, leaning his elbows on the counter and asking “So, you like football?”

“Yes. I play, at home.”

“Me too. You any good?”

“My team are in second place in the league.”

“Yeah, but are you any good?”

Xabi blushed. “I’m alright.”

“What position?”

“Defensive midfield.”

An even bigger grin broke out on Stevie’s face. “Me too. What club?”

“Real Sociedad,” he said, his Spanish accent seeming to amuse the Scouser. “But I live in Munich and most of my friends support Bayern.”

“Any English teams?”

Xabi smiled, formulating the joke before he said it. “I hear Liverpool aren’t too bad.”

Stevie laughed. “As long as you don’t support United, we can be friends, Xabi.”

And from there on, the ice had been broken and they got talking about a whole variety of different things, what Germany was like, how long he’d lived in Spain, why did Stevie love Liverpool so much, school subjects, hobbies, everything under the sun. Stevie still had to serve customers, but this gave Xabi a bit of time to formulate new questions in his head and he ended up enjoying talking to the other boy immensely. Time flew, and before he knew it, Stevie’s boss came over and told them it was time to close up.

“ _Joder_ ,” Xabi said, slipping back into Spanish as he looked at his watch. It was nearly one in the morning. His parents would probably be wondering where he was.

“Hey, if you wait five minutes I can walk you home?” Stevie said, still smiling that rather beautiful smile. Xabi would have been lying if he said he hadn’t fallen a little bit for the Liverpool boy.

He shook his head, trying to protest. “No, it’s okay.”

“Oh, but I insist,” Stevie laughed as Xabi blushed. “Give me five minutes, okay Xabi?”

Xabi nodded.

It took a little over five, but Xabi honestly did not mind waiting if it meant he got to spend some more time with his new friend.

Stevie finally reappeared, dressed in normal clothes now. “So, where abouts are you staying?”

“My parents have a holiday house on High St.”

“Good stuff, you’re just around the corner from me.”

And they began to walk, still chatting away, but mainly Stevie doing most of the work, as Xabi was tired and had reached the stage where he couldn’t be bothered stringing together sentences that required too much effort.

As he listened to Stevie talk he felt a longing to see the boy again. Maybe he’d go back to the pub tomorrow. That was a good plan, he decided, as they approached his house. “This is my house,” Xabi said, coming to a stop and stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking up at Stevie.

The Scouser let out a whistle. “Are your folks loaded or something?”

Xabi laughed awkwardly.

“Mate, this is a holiday house?”

“Yeah. We only bought it a few months ago.”

“Why did you buy a holiday house in Liverpool, of all places?” Stevie asked.

“Well, we have one in Spain, and in the south of France, and my father comes here a lot for work, so he bought this.”

“Jesus, you must be loaded.”

Xabi scratched his head embarrassedly.

“Sorry,” Stevie laughed. “You’re just… wow.”

“I should go in - ” Xabi started but was cut off when Stevie leant in and kissed him. Xabi was caught by surprise and before he had the chance to kiss him back, Stevie was pulling away, looking bashful and embarrassed.

“Shit, I’m sorry, you’re probably not even gay and that was probably really weird but you’re really hot and fuck, I just can’t help myself you know - ”

Xabi really liked the way he said ‘fuck.’ It was his turn to cut Stevie off by kissing him, this time more passionately, slipping his tongue between Stevie’s lips. It was hot and wet and he felt Stevie’s hands come up to knot into his hair. They broke apart panting, only centimetres apart.

“I uh… Fuck. Can I get your number? So I can see you again?”

Xabi felt his heart soar as he pulled the crappy brick mobile his mum had given him as a phone for England out of his pocket and handing it to Stevie. “It’s not my real phone. That is in Germany.”

Stevie’s fingers flew over the keys and he handed it back to Xabi with a smile. “We should hang out or something.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Xabi smiled, and leaned in to peck Stevie on the cheek. Was this flirting? Xabi had not flirted with anyone for about a year. God, that made him sound pathetic.

The other boy grinned at him, then made his way down the steps and gave Xabi a wave. “See you round.”

Xabi nodded and waved back at him. He was incredibly good looking, now Xabi thought about it, with a mop of brown hair and quite strong cheekbones, and his eyes had been something else.

He was different - Xabi didn’t know whether that was due to him being from England or whether he was subconsciously comparing the boy to Mesut.

At the thought of his friend, Xabi felt his heart ache.

Maybe it was time to move on. He didn’t know if he could, but he might as well try. The boy he’d just met was definitely someone Xabi would like to get to know, and it would take his mind off Germany and Mesut and everything that had happened if he hooked up with some hot English boy.

He realised he was still standing on the doorstep outside. He took a quick look down the road, and saw Stevie’s retreating figure. Smiling, he headed inside.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait. i hope the content made up for it. if it didn't, please tell me. if it did, please tell me.
> 
> comments are the air i breathe. thank u guys for everything, you inspire me to carry on this self indulgent piece of trash. 
> 
> special thanks to max. i luv u bby.
> 
> i'm at uni now so life is a bit more hectic. i'll update as soon as i can
> 
> love you all
> 
> \- c


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of dick sucking in this chapter. Sorry?

When Marco woke up, he had no idea where he was. His head hurt like a bitch; there was light streaming in from the window, illuminating the room and making Marco squint. He was lying on his side, tangled in sheets he did not recognise, and he could feel something heavy on his waist. He shifted a little, trying to move the weight, and that’s when he realised he was naked, and that the heavy thing was an arm.

He panicked, twisting over in the bed, and found the arm belonged to a sleeping Robert Lewandowski.

“Shit,” Marco exclaimed, and rocketed out of bed, displacing the boy’s arm. Robert stirred, moving so that the sheets were pushed off him, and Marco saw that he too was stark naked. And god, he was well endowed, and Marco was sure he would have remembered a dick that big and –

“Fuck,” he swore, and Robert’s eyes blinked slowly open. Marco hurriedly covered himself, and a lopsided smile fell onto Robert’s face.

“Don’t be shy,” the brunet said. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“How… h-how far did we go?” His voice was shaking and he was feeling so panicky. Robert, it seemed, felt nothing of the sort, and kept smiling, shifting himself up the bed so he was sitting up, watching Marco as the blond fumbled around looking for his underwear. He was still naked, and making no attempt to cover himself, and Marco was trying with all his might not to look at his cock.

“Not all the way,” Robert drawled. “You conked out after I blew you and I couldn’t wake you up again.” His hand had moved down and started stroking himself, and Marco was desperately looking at his face.

“So we didn’t – we didn’t have sex?” Marco felt almost relieved.

“No, just blow jobs and a bit of ass play.” Robert looked rather smug. “But if you’re keen to stay for breakfast I’m sure we could get things going again.” He let out a soft moan, keeping eye contact with Marco the entire time as he stroked himself.

Marco went crimson. On the one hand, he could feel himself getting aroused just hearing Robert’s hand on his cock, and god, he found the Pole so attractive it was almost impossible to take. But on the other hand, he was hit with the realisation of what he’d done. He’d cheated on his boyfriend.

The words were resonating in his mind, and he was unable to process the face that he’d been unfaithful to Mario, to the boy who was so important to Marco. He screwed his eyes shut, turned away from Robert and started towards the door.

Robert let out a louder moan, and Marco hated himself, but he stalled. He still had his back to the other boy, but he heard Robert climb off the bed and approach him.

“Stay, Marco,” Robert’s breath was hot on his neck as he wound his arms around Marco’s waist, deliberately pushing himself up against the blonde. Marco could feel Robert’s cock against his ass, hard and a bit wet with pre-come and that combined with the way Robert had said his name, and the fact he was now kissing Marco’s neck, were enough to defeat him. “You know you want to.”

His brain was screaming at him _wrong, wrong, wrong_ but he was overcome by curiosity; he wanted to know what he could have. He swivelled in Robert’s grasp and planted an experimental kiss on the Pole’s lips.

Robert kissed him back immediately.

And then there was no going back.

Marco’s clothes were back on the floor and Robert was on his knees, pushing the blonde up against the wall, his head bobbing, cheeks hollowed around Marco’s cock. He couldn’t stop himself, all he could do was buck his hips into Robert’s waiting mouth, and card his fingers through his hair, pushing that head down further. He was embarrassingly close to coming. For some reason unknown to him Robert felt so much better than Mario did sucking his cock.

“God,” he breathed, as Robert took all of him in, feeling his cock knock against the back of the Pole’s throat and – oh god the sounds Robert made as his throat tightened – Marco felt so dirty. “Robert,” he panted, “Robert, I’m gonna, fuck, Robert I’m gonna come.”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but Robert took him even deeper and then Marco was coming, his head thudding against the wall, his hands tugging on Robert’s hair in pure bliss.

Robert pulled off his cock with an obscene pop once he’d swallowed everything, and got to his feet, grabbing Marco’s face and kissing him, letting the blonde taste himself, and god that was hot.

Marco was still coming down from his high, panting into the other boy’s mouth, his cock being overstimulated by Robert rutting against him.

When Robert’s mouth moved to his neck, Marco pulled away. “No, no marks,” he breathed.

“Don’t want your _boyfriend_ seeing what we got up to?” Robert smirked.

Marco blushed crimson and glared at him, mumbling. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re a naughty boy, Reus. You gonna return the favour?”

“Yes, if you shut the fuck up.”

Robert just grinned at him, and drew him closer by the waist, their cocks knocking together. Marco pulled him across the room and onto the bed, and Robert was chuckling and Marco wanted to wipe the smirk off his face if it wasn’t so damn attractive.

Luckily, when he bobbed his head and started licking at Robert’s cock, it did disappear, replaced by closed eyes and an open mouth, and Marco thought _much better._

He knew that this could have potentially disastrous consequences, but he ignored the lingering traces of his guilt, and focused on the beautiful boy in front of him. Because it felt so good. It felt so, so good, and Marco was only human and he felt things for Mario but he felt different things for Robert. The feelings hadn’t been the product of alcohol, they were real, they were so real.

After the Pole had come, the last thing he was expecting was the boy to draw him into his arms, but he found himself in Robert Lewandowski’s bed, the room smelling like sex and Robert’s arm draped protectively across his waist once more, and he let himself fall back to sleep, feeling warm and safe in Robert’s arms.

…

Xabi had felt a weird sort of connection with Stevie. He’d sent the boy a text when he’d got inside, and Stevie had responded almost immediately.

_hey, it’s xabi – xabi_

_hi xabi :D – stevie_

_i had no idea your name was spelt like that – stevie_

_anyway – stevie_

_do you wanna hang out tomorrow? – stevie_

_yes I would like that :) – xabi_

_okay, I’ll come round yours about 11?_

_Okay :) – xabi_

_goodnight *kissy face emoji* – stevie_

Xabi’s heart leapt, and he smiled at his phone, replying night with the same emoji.

And so the next day he found himself getting far too worked up about what he was wearing, fretting about how to impress Stevie, scared about messing up his English, and – though he did not consciously realise this fact – not thinking about Mesut at all.

Finally deciding on an outfit, he shot downstairs to have some food before Stevie arrived. His brother and mother were already in the kitchen, and Isabel gave her son a peck on the cheek.

“Where are you off to?” She smiled, handing Xabi a plate of breakfast.

“Out,” Xabi said, more defensively than necessary.

“Xabi’s got a hot date,” Mikel smirked and Xabi’s head snapped around to look at his older brother.

“How the fuck - ”

“Language, Xabier,” Isabel scolded, but was smiling all the same. “Have you met someone?”

“He’s just a friend,” Xabi insisted, glaring at Mikel.

“A friend you had no trouble kissing on the doorstep last night,” his brother added, and was lucky he was quick enough to avoid Xabi’s swipe at him.

“Come on, boys, what are you, 12?” Isabel said.

“He started it,” Xabi growled.

“Mikel, leave him alone. Xabi, enjoy your date, sweetie.”

“Mama! It’s not. A. Date.” Xabi was blushing crimson and glaring at a laughing Mikel as if to say _this is all your fault._ The older boy just grinned and flicked a piece of bread at him.

Xabi refrained from retaliating, and checked his phone to see what the time was. He was getting nervous again, and he tried to focus on eating his breakfast.

_I’m outside :D – stevie_

Xabi’s heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly thought of Mesut, how the last time he’d felt like this it had been at Miro’s, with Mesut drunk and giggly, the moment before Xabi had leaned in to kiss him. God, how naïve he’d been. He screwed his eyes shut and willed the memory away. Mesut was in the past. Mesut didn’t feel the same and Xabi had to accept that. And the way he felt already about Stevie, just the pure attraction he had to the boy, that was a good sign, wasn’t it?

_I’m coming :D – xabi_

“See you later, Mama,” he said, and pecked his mother on the cheek, pulled the finger at Mikel and was out the door.

Stevie was leaning against the wall and Xabi’s stomach was doing flips as the English boy grinned at him.

“Hi,” Xabi said quietly, smiling bashfully. He was overcome by wanting to touch Stevie, to hold him and kiss him like he’d kissed him the previous night. He managed to find some self-restraint.

“Hi yourself,” Stevie chuckled. “How are you?”

They started to walk and chatted pleasantly, Xabi telling him things about Germany and about Spain, and Stevie listening intently, thankfully not caring that he made some mistakes with his English.

“What are we doing today?” Xabi asked. They’d arrived in front of a cathedral, and Stevie had come to a halt, so Xabi stopped walking to and looked at him expectantly.

“I’m gonna give you a little tour of Liverpool, if you’d like that?”

He looked slightly nervous and it made Xabi’s heart pound. “Yeah, I would love to do that,” he replied.

“Come on then,” and Stevie pulled him by the hand in the direction of the entrance.

It was a very good day. The sun was out – Stevie told him he’d probably brought it with him as it had been grey all week – and Xabi found it was effortlessly easy to talk to him. Stevie took him all around town, showing him the sights and he enjoyed himself immensely. He also found out a lot about the other boy, and only had to ask him to repeat himself once or twice. Stevie’s accent was strong but Xabi liked it. He liked it a lot.

He liked it even more when it was whispering things in his ear, while Stevie was straddling him, Englishman pressing kisses to his neck between words, words that Xabi couldn’t concentrate hard enough to understand. Stevie had asked if Xabi wanted to see his house, and Xabi had agreed, not really realising the meaning of the offer until Stevie had brought him up to his room, pushed him on the bed and kissed him hard.

“God, you’re so attractive,” Stevie murmured, or at least that’s what Xabi thought he’d said. He couldn’t think straight, all his English was lost in the back of his mind, all that mattered was the beautiful boy on top of him.

Before he knew it, Stevie was running his hands all over Xabi, pulling at the fly of his jeans and Xabi wasn’t going to protest. And when Stevie took Xabi’s cock into his mouth, Xabi almost came right then and there, because god, it had been too long since he’d fooled around with someone.

Stevie had been bobbing his head for a while now, licking stripes up and down Xabi’s cock, and drawing dirty moans from Xabi’s mouth, but he suddenly halted his movements and when Xabi looked down to see why he was met with the Englishman looking back up at him.

“Am I moving too fast?” Stevie asked, evidently concerned and a little worried.

“On my dick or in general?” Xabi murmured and a grin spread across Stevie’s face.

“You’re a cheeky little bugger, aren’t you?” He was stroking Xabi’s cock, and the Spaniard bucked up into his hand, desperate for him to continue.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Xabi’s voice was heavy.

“Jesus you’re eager,” Stevie laughed and took Xabi’s cock back in his mouth, however it was only a few seconds before he pulled off again and Xabi let out a strangled moan.

“Stevieeeeee…”

“Are you sure this isn’t too fast? I mean I’ve known you all of 24 hours and - ”

“Stevie I need to come. Please.”

Stevie ignored his protests. “I just don’t want to fuck this up because I’m really into you and - ”

“Stevie, _cariño_ , please can we talk about this _after_ we finish?” He motioned to his leaking cock.

The Englishman’s eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

“What?” Xabi wasn’t aware that he’d slipped into Spanish.

“You just said something in Spanish or in German, I don’t know - ”

“Stevie,” there were beads of sweat rolling down Xabi’s forehead and he reached down to move Stevie’s hand on his cock, needing to release.

“Right, sorry,” Stevie grinned bashfully and took Xabi back into his mouth in one swift movement, giving the boy no mercy and Xabi came merely seconds after.

It was one of the best orgasms of his life, and Stevie swallowed everything as he saw white, writhing in pleasure as Stevie milked his cock. Once he’d come down from his high, and Stevie had cleaned him up, he was interrogated once more.

“What was that word you said?”

“I don’t remember,” Xabi said, running a hand through his hair.

“It was hot, whatever it was.” Stevie leaned down to kiss him. It was soft and gentle and loving and Xabi couldn’t help but melt into it, bringing his hands up to cup Stevie’s face.

“I’m only here for two weeks,” Xabi said sadly when they broke apart. He was honestly devastated that he had to have met this wonderful boy at such an inconvenient time. Suddenly, his mind flicked back to Mesut, and he shook his head slightly. “And… There is another boy.”

Stevie paled for a second and Xabi realised he’d said that in a way that implied he might be dating someone. “What the fuck Xabi, we can’t be doing this if you’ve got a boyfriend for fuck’s sake, oh my - ”

“No, no, I don’t have a boyfriend.” The relief that appeared on Stevie’s face was adorable. “I just… Shit. Do you want to hear the story?”

Stevie nodded.

And so Xabi told him. It hurt less than he’d thought it would, recounting the whole experience at Miro’s. He tried to put his feelings into words, but it was hard because he kept mucking up his English. Eventually he ended up sighing. “I care about him a lot, but nothing is going to happen. He makes that clear. We are not talking.”

Stevie ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Xab.” The nickname made his heart leap. “I’m so sorry.”

Xabi shrugged.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” Stevie continued, smiling coyly at him. “Listen, I meant what I said. I really like you.”

“I really like you too,” Xabi said, then blushed.

“That much was clear from the blowjob, I think,” Stevie laughed. “Listen, mate, why don’t we just make the most of the time we have now, okay? You’re going back to Germany and I can’t change that, as much as I’d like to, so why don’t you get me off, yeah?”

Xabi grinned. “Okay.”

Stevie grinned back at him and began unbuttoning his pants, and Xabi knew that even if this was just for sex, it was going to be a bloody good two weeks.

…

Mesut was tired. He was so tired,

He’d almost told Sara that they needed to stop seeing each other that afternoon. But then, she’d kissed him. _You’re straight,_ he’d told himself as they’d leaned in. But there was a part of him that couldn’t help but think of Xabi when they kissed and once more he was overcome with fear of something he knew was probably true.

That part of him wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried.

Dreams haunted him, and that night he woke up in a panic, sweat dripping from his forehead. He turned the light on and grabbed his pillow, pressing it against his face, muffling his sobs.

Just a dream, he told himself. It was just a dream. You are happy, you are okay, you can -

But it was too late to calm himself down. What ifs exploded in his head, and suddenly he was reliving the images of dead Xabi, dead Thomas, dead Benni, and it was all his fault, and then his father telling him he wasn't good enough, his father and his mother leaving him, a lifetime of loneliness. It had been a recurring dream.

He was hyperventilating, he wanted to throw up and he reached blindly for the waste paper bin but all he could do was dry retch until his throat felt like sandpaper. His chest was unbelievably tight, and he was damp with sweat.

He needed fresh air, but what with the creaky stairs his patents would definitely hear him. He looked around desperately then saw the window. His chest was still incredibly tight as he slid it open and clambered onto the ledge. The fresh air made everything better already. He shimmied up so he was sitting on the edge, his legs dangling down, gulping huge breaths and trying to stop himself shaking. He pulled his phone out of his pocket; he wanted to call Xabi, but the current situation meant he'd look like an idiot. And anyway, his friend - friend? Ex friend? - was in England, and probably didn't care for Mesut and his stupid anxiety after what he'd done to him.

Thoughts of their parting just made him start crying again. Mesut wanted to go back in time, to that first kiss that had changed everything, before he'd fucked up everything.

He was scared of his feelings. He was scared to acknowledge the fact that he felt the same way about Xabi, had felt it since the beginning, really.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be gay, although just the possibility of his parents finding out was enough to make him panic. Kissing Sara did make him feel good. Maybe he was bisexual.

 _Kissing Xabi felt a lot better_ , a voice in his head told him.

In regards to Xabi, he was still hurt for the fact that his friend had taken advantage of him in such a way. He hadn’t thought Xabi was like that, and it made Mesut wary of him. This only added to the fear he felt that Xabi liked him like that.

He wanted to tell Xabi that maybe he was in love with him too, he was just confused, and he was sorry for being like this, and Xabi really shouldn't love him because Mesut would end up hurting him. Mesut had already hurt him. The very thought of what Xabi was feeling right now, what Mesut had put him through all for the sake of a reputation, made Mesut cry some more.

I'm so fucked up, Mesut thought, swinging his legs some more. Tears were running down his face, but he'd stopped sobbing, it was silent now. He was alone with the night, while the boy he liked - yep, he'd definitely figured out that he felt the same way - was thousands of miles away, and probably didn’t give two shits about him anymore.

It had been a bad day. So many things had reminded him of Xabi, a Spanish spam email in his inbox, an advert on television for Xabi’s cologne, a sentence in a book he was reading that he could just imagine the other boy saying. It hurt so much to realise that he couldn’t just ring up Xabi and talk, and it was this realisation that had really confirmed the way Mesut felt about Xabi. He was far too hung up on thinking about the Spaniard, and the pain his actions were giving him showed him that he had fallen for Xabi too.

As he looked out over the Munich skyline, illuminated by thousands of tiny lamplights, he longed for Xabi, and felt a surge of inescapable regret for what he’d done to him.

…

Xabi spent every day with Stevie. They went on dates that weren’t really clarified by either of them as being dates, but felt like dates. Xabi met Stevie’s family, and got on well with his friends, and it was all almost too good to be true. He felt so at ease with Stevie, they got on so well, and little by little, he managed to forget about Mesut for a while, focusing on whatever relationship he had with Stevie.

Stevie took him to a Liverpool game and they cheered their hearts out, and Xabi fell for the football team just like he’d fallen for Stevie.

They just clicked. There were never any awkward silences, it just worked, and though it felt like they’d discussed everything under the sun, they hadn’t run out of things to talk about.

It also felt like he’d know Stevie for years, when in reality, it had been about a week. But they’d moved so fast. They’d done a lot physically, and it was like they were dating – Stevie’s friends respected them as a couple, when in actual fact, they hadn’t put a label on their relationship. Xabi wasn’t complaining though. It was probably better that it was this casual, as he would of course be leaving the following week, and they both had the school year to complete.

Later that night they were lying on Xabi’s bed, playing with each other’s hands and not really watching the movie that was on on the television, when Stevie asked “Xab?”

Xabi loved that he had a nickname. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside and he looked at Stevie, smiling. “Yeah?”

“What do you think of long distance relationships?”

Xabi’s hand, that had been stroking circles absent-mindedly on Stevie’s inner wrist, stilled. “God, Stevie, I don’t know.”

“I just… You’re amazing you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever got on with anyone how I have with you, and god you’re just… it sucks that you have to go back to Germany.”

“I would stay if I could,” Xabi replied, kissing Stevie softly.

“I wish you would.”

“Why do you ask about long distance?” Xabi asked tentatively. “Is that something that you would want?”

“God, Xab, I don’t even know. I mean, ideally, no. But if you wanted it too, I would want it.” Xabi’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice.

“What are we now though, Stevie? Are we dating? Are we in a relationship?”

Stevie looked at him. “I don’t know. What do you want it to be?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“I asked you first,” Stevie chuckled softly, prodding the Spaniard gently in the ribs.

Xabi smiled.

“But seriously, would you want to do it?”

Xabi didn’t want to disappoint him. But he knew that he probably wouldn’t be able to handle a long distance relationship, as much as he felt a connection with Stevie. “Babe, I don’t know… I mean… I’m so busy with school, and Germany is so far away, and… I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you anyway, whether we’re in a relationship or not.”

Xabi blushed, feeling guilty. “I’ll miss you too, of course. I just think… I think it might be better if we keep it casual.”

Xabi saw something flash in Stevie’s eyes, and the other boy looked a bit upset. He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes and opened them again a few times. Xabi could feel his heart racing, but didn’t comment on it.

“I’m sorry,” the Spaniard said quietly, and Stevie looked up at him.

“No, it’s okay. You’re right. I guess, I just… We’ve moved so quickly and I got a bit caught up in it, but you’re right. We’ll keep it casual. That’s the best thing to do I think.”

“Only if you’re sure?” Xabi said, taking his hands, running his thumbs over Stevie’s skin.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

There was a little silence between them, until Stevie broke it. “You’re amazing, Xabi. Like I said before. I’m so glad to have met you.”

“I feel the same way about you.”

Stevie captured his lips in a gentle kiss. “If casual is what you want, then that’s what I want too.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want you to leave, though.”

“I don’t want to leave, either.”

Stevie kissed him again, more passionately this time, and Xabi responded in kind.

When they broke apart, Stevie brought his hand up to stroke Xabi’s chin.

“You’re not gonna get rid of me easily,” he chuckled. “I’m going to spend every second I can with you until you leave, and you’re going to go back to Germany completely sick of me.”

Xabi laughed. “That sounds good to me,” and he kissed Stevie on the mouth.

…

Miro fell into a routine. They’d get to the hospital at around 9, stay till 5, go home, order takeaways and fall into bed. He was in a hotel room with his sister, while Marek was down the road with their mother.

He was sitting in the hospital cafeteria when his mother approached him.

“Miroslav,” she said in way of greeting, and took a seat across from him. He’d barely touched his sandwich, and the Coke made him feel queasy.

He looked up at her. She looked so tired.

“There are people who are offering a good price for the house.”

He nodded.

“Have you made your decision?”

“I’ll find a flat,” he said, and quickly looked down at the table. He knew that she had expected him to go with her.

She was silent for a second. He didn’t want to meet her eyes. “Why won’t you just come with me? We have to stay together, Miro.”

He gulped, and glanced up. She looked hurt, sad, but most of all tired. “Mama…” he started. “My whole life is in Munich.”

“So your father and I don’t fit into your life?”

“Mama, he’s not going to be around - ”

Her eyes were fiery. “Don’t say that.”

“You know it’s true, Mama,” he sighed. “Why else would you be selling the house?”

She was silent, seething. He didn’t like that he’d made her angry or upset, but they had to have this conversation, and he had to be truthful.

“I’m in my senior year, all my friends are there, my boyfriend, it would be stupid to move.”

“What about family, Miroslav?”

He was suddenly angered; family had never been a big part of their day to day lives, so why was she trying to make it now? “Why won’t you just let me do what I want!?”

She shook her head. “This isn’t about what you want, Miro, it’s about our family sticking together.”

“Oh, because we’ve done _so_ much of that in the past!” Miro’s voice had risen.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “Your father and I,” her voice cracked, “we’ve done so much for you and - ”

“And what Mama?” Miro exclaimed.

“And you should be more thankful for that! Show some god damn appreciation for once in your life, Miroslav.”

That hit him hard. “I would have, if you’d ever been around for me to show you!” he yelled. The doctors were poking their heads around doors, and suddenly Marek was there, dragging Miroslav away, and their mother had burst into tears in Anna’s arms.

“Let go of me,” Miro yelled. “Let go! Marek!”

But his older brother was stronger than him, and dragged him into the bathrooms.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked, cornering Miro.

“She’s having a go at me for not wanting to stay with her after,” Miro spat. He tried to push past Marek, but he was having none of it.

“Calm down, Miro,” he ordered, pushing his younger brother back against the wall. “Calm the fuck down.”

Eventually Marek let him go and he stormed back to the hotel, having already made up his mind about what he was going to do. Xabi had said before the holidays had started that Miro could come up to Liverpool if he wanted, and Miro was going to do just that. He started throwing things into a bag, just enough for a day or two, and Anna must have followed him home as she announced her presence in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Miro raised his eyebrows at her. “Packing, what does it look like?”

“Where are you going?”

“Liverpool. My friend is staying there. I’ll be back in a day or two.”

“Miro what if he - ”

“I know, Ann,” he said quietly. “Just… keep me updated. Please. I can’t handle Mama and I just… I can’t handle any of this right now, okay?”

Anna brought him into a hug, and rubbed his back, and he let out a strangled gasp. “It’s okay to cry,” Anna said, and Miro was reminded of something Thomas had said to him, a few weeks back, telling him that it was okay to show his emotions. Suddenly he was all very overwhelmed, worried about his father, angry at his mother, missing Thomas, and he just burst into tears in Anna’s arms. The bag he held fell to the ground and he just cried and cried.

Anna sat him down on the bed and wrapped an arm around her little brother. “I love you, Miro. And Mama loves you too. I hope you know that.”

Miro nodded dragging his hand across his eyes. “I love you too, sis.”

…

Miro got to Liverpool the following morning, and caught a cab to Xabi’s house. He’d texted a few hours ago, letting Xabi know he was coming, but hadn’t received a reply. It was early, to be fair.

When he got to the house, he tried the doorbell, and there was no answer. After trying a few more times, he turned the handle and found it was unlocked, so he went inside.

“Xabi!” Miro called, stepping through the door. He recognised his friend’s Converse by the door. The house was empty downstairs, and there was no reply, so Miro headed up the stairs, looking in all the doors as he moved across the landing. He came to the last door, and heard music coming from inside. He threw it open; “Xabi?”

He was right in that this was Xabi’s room, but the Spaniard was not alone. His friend was pinned to the bed and being kissed by another boy, and they were both without their shirts. As the door swung open and hit the wall, the boy on top of Xabi froze for a second, and then he was being thrown to the ground in a desperate attempt on the Spaniard’s part to hide him.

Miro was speechless for a split-second as he stared between Xabi and the head that had popped up from beside the bed – the heard of a rather attractive young man. “Subtle,” he smirked, regaining his composure, and Xabi blushed crimson, scrabbling for his shirt.

Miro sat himself on the bed, and glanced at the boy who’d been kissing his friend, then back to Xabi. “You’ve moved on quickly then, Xabier.”

Xabi blushed even more, glaring at Miro, and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but Miro wasn’t having any of that. Instead he held out his hand to the boy, who was now getting to his feet and brushing himself down. “Miro Klose,” he said, smiling, and then to Xabi; “you’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that, Alonso.”

The boy shook his hand and said, in English, “I’ve got no idea what you just said, but my name’s Stevie. Steven Gerrard.”

At the sound of Stevie’s voice, Miro snapped around. “You sly dog,” he said to Xabi in German. “Snagging yourself a cute British boy within a week of being in the country!”

“What did he say?” Stevie asked Xabi perplexedly.

Xabi huffed, throwing Steven’s shirt at him. “Nothing. Ignore every word that comes out of his mouth.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Miro said in English, grinning from ear to ear.

“You too,” Stevie was laughing a little at the amount of discomfort Xabi looked to be in.

“What are you doing here, Miro?” The Spaniard asked.

“You did say I could come,” Miro held up his hands in defence. “So I thought I’d see how you’re coping after what happened at the end of term, although now I see you’re doing just fine.”

“Fuck off, Klose.”

“He’s very cute, Xabi.”

Stevie was looking awfully confused due to the language barrier. “Is this one of your school mates?” He asked Xabi.

“My least favourite,” Xabi scowled.

“Harsh,” Miro smirked.

“How long do I have to put up with your presence?”

“Till Tuesday. Then I’ll go back to London. Needed a break so I thought I’d take you up on your offer, if that’s okay?”

Xabi looked a bit guilty. “How is he?

Miro shrugged. “As expected.” He didn’t really want to say anything more, even with Stevie not being able to understand them, but luckily Xabi took the hint and dropped the matter.

“I’ve got to go to work,” Stevie announced. “You wanna come to an English pub Miro?”

“I’d love to,” Miro grinned, and Xabi rolled his eyes.

They bickered all the way down to the pub. Stevie had his arm around Xabi’s waist, something Miro took a lot of delight in, and did not refrain from teasing him about.

“I mean,” he said, “I did call your name, but you were evidently preoccupied.”

“Could’ve knocked,” Xabi grumbled.

“Would’ve spoilt all the fun.”

“Thomas is rubbing off on you, I swear to god.”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be over the god damn moon.”

Miro felt very at ease, and he was suddenly very glad he had decided to come visit. Seeing Xabi to be quite happy after what had happened at the end of term had given him some sort of reassurance. And it was undeniably good to be around someone his own age, after being with adults and his family for so long.

As he watched Stevie lean over the counter to press a kiss to Xabi’s cheek, he smiled. The way Xabi looked at him was reminiscent of how Miro remembered he looked at Mesut. Miro thought Xabi would be inhuman if he had forgotten Mesut that quickly, so after they’d left the bar just before midnight, and returned to Xabi’s house, Miro threw a barrage of questions at the Spaniard as they set up a bed for him.

“How the fuck did that happen? Are you guys dating or what – no you can’t be dating it’s been barely a week that would be ridiculous. Have you guys fucked? Is he a serious thing or are you still into Mesut because Jesus Xabi, at the end of last term you weren’t looking too good and - ”

Xabi threw a cushion at him to shut him up, then fell backwards onto his bed, letting out a long sigh. “It just happened. I met him at the pub on my first night and he kissed me goodnight and asked for my number. I… we get on so well. And he’s so good looking and we haven’t had sex but we’ve done most other things.”

“And what about Mesut?”

Xabi gave him a pained look. “That’s never going to go anywhere so I might as well move on.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He told me to stay away from him,” Xabi said bluntly.

“Yeah well maybe he was… I don’t know… Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“He’s not gonna change his mind. I’ve finally accepted that fact, so please don’t try to convince me otherwise. He doesn’t feel the same way that I do – did – and I need to move on. Stevie is good for that.”

“He’s a fucking catch, Xabi,” Miro smirked. “Has he got a good dick?”

Xabi went crimson.

“Yes or no, Xabier.”

“Yes,” Xabi mumbled.

“Nice.”

“It’s not a serious thing though. We both established that early on. I’m going back to Germany and I don’t want to do anything long distance.”

“So it’s just sex?”

Xabi shrugged. “Sex and more. We get on really well, like I said, and he’s so sweet and funny and he’s good at football and he loves Liverpool more than anything, and if I’d met him at a different time it would be a different story, but…” He trailed off.

“But Mesut?” Miro prompted.

“Yes and no. I don’t know. I’m so confused. I miss him.”

“Of course you do.”

“I just thought… God I was so stupid, Miro.” Xabi ran a hand through his hair and sat up to look at the other boy, who was also sitting up on his camp stretcher. “I thought that it would all be perfect, after I kissed him. I thought he would just fall in love with me too but it’s not that easy and I didn’t make sure or anything. He says he’s not even gay but I thought – I really, _truly_ thought he was, or am I completely mad?”

Miro shook his head. “I thought he was too.”

They were silent for a little while, then Xabi spoke. “Am I doing the right thing by hooking up with Stevie? Or am I just going to make everything worse?”

“Worse for who?”

“I don’t know.”

Miro scratched his forehead. “Well, if Mesut does change his mind and finds out you’ve hooked up with English hottie then he won’t be too happy.”

“I told you, Mesut’s not going to change his mind.”

“You never know.”

Xabi gave him a withering look.

“I think you’re doing the right thing. Stevie obviously makes you happy and that’s what should matter most. And that’s Mesut’s loss, okay?”

Xabi sighed. “God, I suppose.”

“He does make you happy, right?”

“Yes. He’s amazing. I really like him, it’s just shit timing.” He paused for a second. “And he gives really good blow jobs.”

Miro laughed. “Well then you know my advice.”

Xabi rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to take it, but I’m just saying he’s a hot piece of ass.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Go ahead.”

“Fuck you Miro.”

Miro just laughed and lay back down. “Night Xab.”

“Night.”

…

Mats had barely managed to wipe the sleep out of his eyes when his phone started ringing.

_Incoming call: benni <3_

“Hey handsome,” Mats picked up the phone with a grin on his face.

“You’re so cheesy,” came Benni’s reply.

Mats fell onto his bed, still smiling. He could imagine Benni blushing a little, shaking his head and pouting. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my darling?”

“My mum’s away on a work conference. Do you want to come to my house?”

Mats sat up quickly. “Yeah I’d love to. How long is she away for?”

“3 days including today, so you can stay over if you want?” The last part came in a bit of a rush, and Mats knew that Benni was nervous. Staying over meant doing stuff. Mats still wasn’t 100% sure that Benni was ready for that, but if the boy was inviting him over then it meant at least he wanted to try.

“Yes please,” Mats replied.

“Okay,” Benni said, and Mats fell in love with the little trace of surprise he heard in Benni’s voice, as if his boyfriend had been expecting him to say no.

“Can I come now?”

“Um, my room’s a tip, I should really - ”

“Benni, do you think I really care if your room is messy?”

“I care,” Mats could hear the pout.

“I’m coming now whether you like it or not,” he chuckled. “See you soon, baby boy.” He hung up before Benni had time to protest.

It was a little strange being at Benni’s house, he had to admit, but there was nothing better than seeing his boyfriend relaxed in his own home. The fact this was only because his mother was not around made Mats’ heart ache, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and just enjoyed this happy, relaxed Benni.

They watched TV, made dinner together and chatted with Sam as they sat at the dining table. Mats couldn’t take his eyes off Benni, the way he smiled, and laughed, and he wished Benni could be like this all the time.

Of course, later that night, they found themselves on Benni’s bed – a bit of a tight squeeze seeing as it was much smaller than Mats’ queen – kissing and touching each other. Their shirts had been lost long ago, and Mats felt that this time, it was right. This time, he felt that Benni was ready.

Still, he made sure to check before unbuttoning Benni’s fly. His boyfriend had been very eager, responding to Mats’ every touch with beautiful little moans, and moving close to Mats with every chance he got. But still, he made sure. “Are we going to do this now?” He asked, breathily, into the crook of Benni’s neck. The pianist was sitting in his lap, his legs around Mats’ waist. It was turning Mats on so much to have Benni so close to him like this, and he was half hard already.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Matsi.”

“Okay.”

Mats lifted Benni off his lap onto the bed, and laid him down. His back was squished against the wall – this bed was so unpractical but he didn’t care – and he had enough room to kiss Benni, elevating himself on one elbow and caressing Benni’s cheek with the other.

Slowly, he made his way to Benni’s crotch, and pulled down his jeans with ease. He did have experience, after all. Still kissing his boyfriend, he palmed the bulge in his boyfriend’s underwear, until he had Benni moaning again. Finally, when Benni started to buck his hips into his touch, he dipped his fingers beneath the band of Benni’s underwear and began to stroke him.

The noises that Benni made were so beautiful that he would gladly hear them for the rest of his life. He was moving slowly, but Benni was still ever so eager, so Mats stilled, relishing the noise of protest that came from his boyfriend’s mouth, and then let Benni’s cock spring free of his underwear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told him, and started to stroke him again.

In the end, Benni didn’t last very long, which was adorable. And when Mats pushed him over the edge and he lost control, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and his mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ he looked the most beautiful he ever had done, and Mats fell in love with him all over again.

He spurted seed all over Mats his hand, calling out Mats’ name in a hushed cry, bucking into Mats’ touch and god, it was so beautiful, Mats thought, and he was so so lucky.

His boyfriend was in a post-orgasm haze as Mats cleaned him up, and Mats made to move to the camp stretcher when he’d finished, but felt Benni’s arms slink around his waist. “No,” he heard his boyfriend murmur. “What about you?”

“You don’t have to,” he told him gently. “If it’s too much for you - ”

“It’s not too much for me.” Benni’s tone sounded indignant, which Mats loved, and he couldn't help smile as he felt Benni's hand unbutton the fly of his jeans.

The feel of Benni’s hand on his dick was so much better than it had been the countless times he’d imagined this very situation. He couldn’t stop himself touching Benni again, and in the end they both came, stroking each other through their orgasms. Afterwards, they were a tangle of limbs, Benni’s head tucked beneath Mats’ chin, their hands linked by their sides.

“Was I okay?” Benni asked eventually. His voice was heavy, but he smiled brilliantly up at Mats, his eyes searching for praise.

“You were amazing,” Mats replied. He couldn’t stop touching him, kissing him, holding him. He was so in love with this boy, and he couldn’t keep it in. “You were absolutely amazing, and I love you.”

Of course, there was surprise in Benni’s eyes, but this time, it was gone just as quickly as it had arrived. “I love you too,” Benni replied, without a stammer, or a stutter, no trace of self doubt and Mats felt so happy. He kissed Benni hard, wanting the other boy to know how much he meant to Mats, wanting to convey it through the kiss.

When they broke apart, Benni’s eyelids were beginning to droop. Once again, Mats made to get up, so that they would have more room but Benni pulled him back. “No. Stay with me.”

“Okay,” Mats conceded – how could he say no? “But we should really put some clothes back on or we’re going to freeze.”

A chuckle escaped from Benni’s lips, and Mats felt his grip loosen. He found the cloth he’d used earlier, cleaned them up, and then found some clothes to wear to bed. Benni was drifting off, so he was as quick as he could be, and then they were back in each other’s arms again, listening to the sounds of the other’s heartbeat.

“Thank you for waiting,” Benni mumbled, pressing a wet kiss to Mats’ cheek.

“Anything for you,” Mats replied.

“I love you.” There was a cheeky little smile on Benni’s face as he said it, but his eyes were fluttering closed.

“I love you too.” Mats pressed one final kiss to his forehead and they let sleep overtake them.

…

Lukas hadn’t replied to the text. It sat there on his phone, at the top of his messages list.

_hey, could we talk? – basti_

It had come through the previous night when he’d been asleep and when he’d woken up to see it at the top of his notifications, he had thought he was still dreaming.

It was still sitting there, unanswered. Lukas didn’t know what to say. He was holidaying with his family in Berlin, but most of the time he’d been in a shit mood; he was so confused – at this point he couldn’t remember if it was he ignoring Bastian or the other way around, but neither of them would admit that it was their fault. Bastian had always been just as stubborn as him, Lukas knew that.

Another thing he knew was that he missed his best friend.

It was lonely. Mats had Benni and Manu had always been closer with Basti than him, and then of course he had Robert, and he was almost glad it was the holidays because it meant that he didn’t have to feel the loneliness that came with school.

Everything had fallen apart so quickly, and he still had no idea how it had come about. He didn’t know if he’d done something wrong, something to annoy or anger Bastian, the lack of communication did not help that.

He just wanted it to be back to normal. He wanted his best friend back.

And so he replied.

_Yeah, that would be good – luki_

It felt weird. They were usually so fluid, so at ease, and this weird, awkward texting didn’t feel like them. But things had changed, Lukas knew that. Bastian had changed. He wondered whether or not he himself had changed.

He checked his phone. There was no reply.

He racked his brain, for what seemed like the millionth time, trying to figure out what he’d done that had made their friendship so tense. The earliest he could remember Bastian being different was after camp. Had anything happened then that he’d missed? He struggled to remember.

Sometimes he let himself worry that something massive had happened in Bastian’s life that the blonde simply didn’t want to tell him. But that was hard for him to believe. Up until now, they’d always told each other everything. They’d been there for each other through thick and thin. Basti was like a brother to him. Why, then, had it turned out like this?

_Maybe he just doesn’t want to be friends anymore._

Lukas shook his head. No. Why would he text Lukas asking to talk if he didn’t want to be friends? That was out of the question.

His phone buzzed.

_Do you want to come over? – basti_

_I’m in Berlin – luki_

_oh – basti_

_I’m back tomorrow? – luki_

_Okay. I’ll see you then I guess just let me know when you’re coming – basti_

_okay, sounds good – luki_

After that, he didn’t get a reply. Maybe it was for the best. They would discuss everything the next day, and Lukas hoped with all his might that they would be able to make things right again.

...

It had been good to be in Liverpool. Xabi and Stevie had waved him goodbye at the train station, Xabi hugging him tight and telling him it was going to be okay.

Miro didn’t believe him, but he smiled and nodded all the same.

When he arrived back in London, it was to news that his father had worsened overnight. Anna picked him up at the airport, looking tired and emotional, and they drove to the hospital. A lot more of the family had arrived and it was a tense day, with everyone looking stressed and worried. Miro spent most of it in the waiting area, as he felt he’d had ample time with his father compared to the other relatives. Anna tried to tell him this wasn’t the case, and tried to get him to spend more time inside, but he just shook his head, and watched, then kissed his sleeping father on the forehead before they left.

Miro’s father passed away just after 1 in the morning the following day. All Miroslav could think about was that none of them had been there when he’d died. Marek had called Anna with the news, having just got to the hospital at around 7. She had woken Miro, her eyes filled with tears, and instantly, he’d known.

He didn’t cry, but his fingers struggled with the buttons on his shirt, his knees felt weak, and he just wished the walk to the hospital would take an eternity.

Marek enveloped his little brother in a tight hug. There were tears in his eyes. Miro just clung to him, and looked threw the window at his father’s body.

It wasn’t like the movies. There was no big send off, no reciprocated goodbyes, no last words. The last thing he had said to Miro had been a simple ‘thank you,’ when Miro had brought him a magazine. They didn’t get their turn with him, there was only Miro’s mother draped across her husband, wailing. Marek had his arm around Anna, who was crying silent tears. Miro stood a little further back, and watched on through the little window.

He felt numb. Numb as the body of his father, just lying there, cold. He couldn’t feel anything else, no emotions, no tears pricking his eyes. He just felt numb.

After a while, his uncle was able to remove his mother from the room, and the rest of the family filed in one by one.

Anna spent a long time inside. Miro couldn’t really comprehend her reaction. Even with their rather limited relationship with their parents, out of the three of them, Marek, Miroslav and Anna, it had been the boys who were closer to their father. Anna was saying things that Miroslav could not hear, and he wondered if she felt the same way he did, like he’d let his father down. When she finally emerged, she began to cry again, and Marek sat her down, motioning for Miro to go in.

He did so. He sat down in the chair next to the bed and looked at his father. He looked peaceful, his eyes shut, more at ease than they’d seen him over the past week. Miro hoped he’d gone knowing that he was loved. He dragged a hand across his eyes, which had started to water a little. He remembered Anna’s words, and wondered if he should say anything. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just sat there, gazing at his father’s body, and feeling like it wasn’t really real that he was gone.

“Bye, Pa,” he finally said, and got to his feet. He touched a hand to the bed sheets, but then withdrew it just as quickly, and hurried out of the room.

His mother was waiting outside and she looked livid. “Why aren’t you sad?” she screamed at him. “Show some emotion!” Marek leapt to his feet and hurried over, as she shook him by the shoulders. Miro blinked at her, in a daze, unable to reply. Then his uncle was dragging her away and he was being pulled by Marek in the opposite direction, and the tears were starting to come now.

The three of them found an empty room and cried together. Miro had never been more grateful for his siblings.

Time passed, he didn’t know how much. Eventually, it seemed he’d run out of tears to cry, and he reached for his phone to text Thomas.

_he’s gone. flying back to munich on Tuesday for the funeral. don’t really want to talk right now but thought i’d let you know x - miro <3_

He received the reply barely seconds after he’d hit send.

_:( thinking of you, love you so so much xxxxx <3 - tom <3_

The next few days passed in a blur. He hardly saw his mother, she refused to leave her room, Marek told them, and so the three kids were left with the task of making sure everything was in order for the funeral. Their uncle handled the finances, and Anna busied herself with making sure it all went according to plan. She looked how Miro felt, tired, emotional, and she was still crying a few times a day. Miro still felt numb. Most of the time he spent the better part of his days perusing real estate sites and apartment listings, and trying not to think about the gaping hole he felt inside his heart.

They flew back to Germany, and the funeral happened Tuesday afternoon. Miro just wanted to forget it ever had. It hurt, seeing his father’s body in the coffin, watching his mother cry and cry and cry, and realising just how quickly his life had fallen apart.

He’d never looked good in black.

He said his last goodbye to his father, laying a flower beside him, and wiping away the tears. This was it.

Marek wrapped an arm around both his sister and his younger brother, and lead them outside, away from their father for the very last time. Anna was silently weeping, and Miro’s tears were running thick and fast now, but it still didn’t feel real. His emotions felt real, but the fact that they were about to lower his father into the ground did not compute.

Feeling very overwhelmed all of a sudden, Miro shrugged away from Marek’s grip on his arm and hurried away from the congregation. There was a bench near the exit to the cemetery and he sat down, his knees weak, his head spinning. He watched from a distance, as his mother said her final words and then the coffin was lowered into the hole.

The congregation depleted as the sun began to set and Miro sat there, watching. Eventually his mother approached him, and took a seat next to him. She looked defeated, her eyes red rimmed and her nose running. There were tissues clutched in her hand, the white a stark contrast to the black of her dress.

It was silent for a little while, and then she spoke. “He loved you so much, I hope you know that.”

Miro felt his eyes fill with tears, and he turned to her. “Mama,” he managed to choke out, before it all got too much and she drew him into her arms and together they cried, clutching at each other.

“I’m so s-sorry for shouting at you the other day,” she said after a little while.

“It’s okay, Mama,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, and drew in a deep breath. Her voice was shaky with tears but she carried on. “Don’t be s-sorry for anything, Miroslav. You m-made me realise what an i-independent young man you’ve become, and I… I-I didn’t even notice it. I’m so p-proud of you.” She brought a tissue up to her face. “And your f-father was proud of you too.”

Miro just nodded.

“I love you, Miroslav,” she said, smiling a small, teary smile.

“I love you too, Ma.”

…

Thomas opened the door to find his boyfriend standing on the front step. He wore a suit, and Thomas realised he’d probably just come from the funeral.

Even in the half light Thomas could see that Miro’s hair was a complete mess, his eyes were puffy and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. His voice shook as he looked up at Thomas. “Can I c-come in?” he asked, in the tiniest voice Thomas had ever heard. The artist just drew him into his arms and he began to sob openly, clutching at Thomas desperately, and all Thomas could do was hold him, hold him tight and try and make it okay.

He held him, and let him cry and cry and cry.

An hour later, the tears had subsided and Miro was sleeping peacefully on Thomas’ bed. His blazer had been shrugged off, but he still wore his chinos and dress shirt, although it was completely untucked and was awfully crumpled. Thomas had heard the door downstairs open and close meaning that his mother had returned and she would probably have food, and he was very hungry so he pressed a soft kiss into Miro’s hair to see if he’d wake. Miro stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up, and so Thomas got off the bed and headed to the door, not wanting to disturb his sleep. He hesitated, looking around.

Miroslav looked so small, so fragile and delicate. His knees were tucked up, his arms brought close to his chest, and Thomas’ heart ached for him. He’d looked emotionally drained when Thomas had seen him on the doorstep, completely and utterly defeated, heartbroken, his shoulders sagging and his head hung, and Thomas hated seeing him like this.

His boyfriend was only 18. Though he seemed much older, Thomas had to remind himself of this fact. He was just 18, and for someone of that age to lose a parent was just awful. Thomas couldn’t imagine himself in Miro’s situation, but he knew that Miro had been through so much in the previous month – more than an 18 year should have to deal with. It wasn’t fair.

He realised that Miro was still wearing his shoes so he walked back towards the bed. Carefully, Thomas untied them and pulled them off, placing them on the ground gently. Miro didn’t even stir this time, nor when Thomas dropped another kiss onto his forehead. “Love you,” Thomas whispered, knowing Miro couldn’t hear him, but feeling the need to say it all the same. Gently, he brushed Miro’s hair back, his hand stilling for a second before he retracted it, and got up to leave the room.

… 

In the middle of the night, Thomas was woken up by the sound of Miro crying. It was dark, but he could just make out Miro’s form, hunched on the edge of the bed, his shoulders rising and falling.

Thomas sat up and rubbed his eyes, feeling his heart ache for his boyfriend.

“Miro,” he said into the darkness, and saw the other boy turn around.

“Tom?” He sounded scared, and Thomas didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m here, baby,” Thomas replied. He pushed the duvet off him and wriggled across. “Come here,” he opened his arms and Miro shuffled towards him, settling into them, his body shaking a little as another sob rattled through him. Thomas stroked his hair and let him cry.

Some time passed before Miro’s tears subsided. A thought struck Thomas – how long would it take for Miro to be okay again? He didn’t know if he could handle comforting Miro every night like this, and he hated that he was still doubting himself. But he was just so anxious about the fact that he might have to do this for Miro for some time – scared he wouldn’t do a good enough job. It didn’t seem to be getting easier for either of them.

He kissed away the tear tracks on Miro’s cheeks, held him tight, and kept reassuring himself that he was helping.

They were silent for a little while, then Miro spoke.

“Every time I think I’ve cried everything out I just cry again,” he said softly, a teary little laugh passing his lips and just the sound of it made Thomas smile.

“It’s okay,” Thomas replied gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You can cry as much as you want.”

He felt Miro nod his head, and move closer to Thomas. “I just… I can’t believe h-he’s g-gone.” Miro’s voice was still shaking. “And he’s n-never coming b-b-back?”

“I know,” Thomas said gently, rocking him back and forth in his arms slowly. “I know.”

“I j-just don’t - ” He dragged a hand across his face, wiping his eyes. “I don’t u-understand why it had to happen. It’s n-not fair.”

“It’s not. It’s not fair at all.”

Miro sniffled. “I just wish I had m-more time with him.”

“I know.” He hugged Miro tighter. “He loved you so much, Miro, I know he did.”

Miro gave a tiny nod, drawing in a shaky breath and leaning his head on Thomas’ shoulder. “I’m so s-sorry I’m like this.” He screwed his eyes shut and let out a wavering sigh.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. Never be sorry. I love you so much, and you know I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

“I love you too,” Miro’s voice was muffled, but Thomas understood him and smiled, hugging Miro tighter. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Thomas chuckled lowly. “Don’t be sorry. I want to make sure you’re okay. That’s the only thing that matters right now. Okay?”

“Okay,” Miro said.

“Do you want to talk some more, or do you want to go to sleep? We can go downstairs and make a hot drink if you like?”

Miro shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I just want to sleep.” The end of his sentence turned into a yawn and Thomas smiled.

“Okay honey.” He pulled the covers around them and eased Miro down. They were facing each other and he pecked a kiss to Miro’s nose. “Love you.”

He watched as Miro’s eyes shut, and his boyfriend uttered a sleepy “I love you too,” and then it was merely seconds before he was out. Thomas smiled, shut his eyes, and drifted off to sleep as well.

......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just over a month!!! That's not that bad is it? 
> 
> I'm into the swing of things at University and still finding time to write which is good. Hopefully you guys like this! Please let me know what you thought, and any feedback, suggestions, crying about Xabi Alonso, all is welcome and very much appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I'll see you soon.
> 
> \- C


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benni stands up for himself, Xabi's time in England comes to a surprising end, Mesut makes a realisation and Miroslav starts to heal.

Benni woke to the light seeping through the curtains. His eyes blinked open, and were met with the pleasant sight of Mats next to him, sleeping, his mouth slightly open. Benni’s head was on his arm, the cause of his aching neck, but when he remembered everything that had happened the previous night he completely forgot about any ache.

Smiling, he reached over and gently brushed a stray curl off Mats’ forehead. His boyfriend stirred and rolled onto his back, letting out an adorable noise that Benni would have described as a snuffle.

The bed was far too small for the both of them, so Benni got up and showered. When he returned, Mats was still fast asleep so he went downstairs and started to make breakfast.

It was very nice to not have his mum around. Usually he would hurry into the kitchen, make his cereal and scarper back upstairs. Today, he had time, he had leisure, and he tried to ignore the pang that went through him as he realised that this was what it should be like every day.

Sam was in the lounge playing videogames on his Xbox, and he responded to Benni’s greeting with a grunt.

“You’re really turning into a teenager,” Benni said from the doorway, watching Sam’s character on the screen shoot down a few zombies. “Do you want eggs?”

“Yes please,” Sam said, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Still got your manners, luckily,” Benni chuckled.

“Poached please!” Sam called after him.

Mats made an appearance just as Benni was making a start on the bacon. Benni didn’t realise he was there until he felt two arms slide around his waist, and Mats pressed a kiss onto the back of his neck. “Hey you.”

“Morning sleepyhead.”

“Smells good.”

“Thank you. How do you like your eggs?” He shook Mats off as he had to attend to the crisping bacon.

Mats leant against the kitchen island and watched his boyfriend cook. “Fried.” He replied. “With lots of bacon.”

“Coming right up.”

“Love you,” Mats said casually, shooting a quick little smile at him, and Benni couldn’t help but send him a huge grin back.

“I love you too.” The words still set his heart beating twice the normal speed. It was going to take some getting used to.

Mats stepped forwards to peck him on the cheek, gave him a cheeky tap on his bum, then wandered through to the lounge. Benni watched him, and smiled as he saw his boyfriend fall onto the couch next to Sam. It was so nice, just the three of them, without his mum.

The bacon might have burnt a little due to his lapse in attention, but as he watched Mats and Sam wolfing it down a little while later, he knew it was no loss.

“Didn’t know you could cook so well,” Mats said through a mouthful of bacon, eggs, sausages and bread.

“You haven’t cooked in ages Ben!” Sam added.

Benni shrugged. “Well, you know.” They all knew, and it was silent for a few seconds.

“It’s damn good, anyway,” Mats said, finding Benni’s legs under the table and brushing their ankles together gently. Mats skin was warm and he was smiling brilliantly at Benni.

“You have sauce all over you,” Benni laughed. Mats dragged a hand across his face no avail. “Here, I’ll get it,” he leaned over and wiped Mats’ cheek clean.

“You two are cute,” Sam chuckled, getting up to put his plate in the dishwasher. “I’m going to go do some homework.” He made for the door, but stopped and turned around to face the couple. “Oh and just by the way, I don’t care if you’re doing stuff, but just try not to be too loud. The walls are very thin.” And with that, he waved and left, leaving a very embarrassed Mats and Benni sitting at the table behind him.

…

Miroslav woke late. The clock on Thomas’ bedside table told him it was past midday, and he felt his stomach rumble as if on cue. Thomas was nowhere to be seen and so Miro got up, and saw a pile of clothes on the edge of the bed. He looked down, and realised he was still wearing most of his suit from the previous day. He hurriedly changed, wanting to get out of the clothes that only reminded him of the funeral and his father, and went downstairs.

Thomas was sitting on the couch watching the television, a mug cradled in his hands. “Hey you,” the artist smiled. “Are you okay?”

Miro nodded, trying to smile back at him. He sat down on the couch next to Thomas, and instantly felt the need to move closer to his boyfriend. Every waking second involved him trying to push thoughts about his father away. Thomas seemed to read his mind as he placed his mug of tea on the coffee table and opened his arms for Miroslav to settle into. “What are we doing today?” The older boy asked.

“What ever you want to do,” Thomas replied, his hands finding their way under Miroslav’s shirt and resting on his skin. They were warm, and Miroslav melted into the touch, leaning his head against Thomas’ chest, hearing the steady thud of his heart and letting it soothe him. “My parents are both at work, so we can do whatever. We can stay here and just chill, we can go somewhere, we can do anything.”

“Just stay here,” Miro mumbled, and repositioned himself so that he was even closer to Thomas.

They spent most of the afternoon cuddled together on the couch, eating junk food and watching cartoons and daytime television, and it was good for Miro to take his mind off everything. Thomas seemed a little wary around him, and Miro supposed that was expected. He wasn’t exactly the epitome of collectedness.

Having Thomas had made everything so much more bearable. He was so grateful for his boyfriend, so glad that he didn’t have to go through this by himself. Just seeing Thomas smile made him almost forget about anything else. He could also see that his boyfriend was trying very very hard to cheer him up, to take his mind off things, trying to get him to smile and laugh. Miroslav wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard, that him just being there was enough, but it warmed his heart too much when Thomas laughed loudly at a cheesy joke on the TV, or when he would make some stupid face at Miroslav.

“I love you so much,” Miro ended up telling him. The sun was starting to set, casting oranges and pinks around the room.

“I love you too.”

They shared a quick, chaste kiss. Thomas was soft, warm, his arms holding Miroslav gently but tightly, and Miro could not put it into words just how much he loved this boy, how grateful he was for him. Together they watched the sunset bathing the room in a soft glow. Thomas’ face was half in shadows, half illuminated by the dwindling light, and he was smiling at Miro, and Miro had not felt this peaceful in so many days, weeks, even months. He leant his head on Thomas’ chest, and listened to his beating heart, wanting nothing more than to just freeze time and stay in this moment forever.

Thomas snuck a look down at his boyfriend. His eyes were shut, a peaceful expression on his face. He brought his hand up and ran it through Miro’s hair, stilling to stroke his forehead gently, his fingers ghosting across Miro’s skin. The older boy’s eyelashes fluttered at the touch, but stayed closed.

He looked peaceful, Thomas thought, even if he’d nearly been on the verge of tears various times throughout the day. Every time it killed him to see Miro like that, but he knew that things could only get better from here and that he was going to be by Miro’s side through everything. The only thing that mattered was that Miro was happy again, and Thomas wasn’t going to stop trying until he achieved that, no matter how long it took. He softly tightened his grip on Miro, and shut his eyes too, revelling in the feel of Miro’s body against his, the sun warming his face. It was all going to be okay.

…

“I texted him,” Bastian said, pushing past Philipp inside. “Are you happy now?”

“Finally!” Philipp shut the door and hurried after his friend. “I am happy, Basti, are you?”

“Yeah, I mean, we had a bit of a conversation over text and it feels a lot better but… He’s in Berlin. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him when I see him.”

“You are going to see him?”

“Yeah, he said we're meeting up tomorrow. Fips, what do I do?”

“Every single time I’ve given you advice you’ve pretty much ignored it,” Philipp laughed.

“Yeah well I was stupid, wasn’t I?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Fuck off. I did what you said eventually.”

“Eventually…”

“Shut up. Seriously, Fips, what should I do?”

“I think you need to tell him. Tell him everything. Otherwise you’re just going to have more problems.”

“Me declaring my feelings might cause problems too.”

“At least they will be different problems.”

“That doesn’t make it sound so great.”

“So you’d prefer to just carry on the way it is? With him in the dark and both of you ignoring each other?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“Just tell him, Basti. You’re doing yourself no favours if you let it go on like this.”

Bastian sighed. “I suppose.”

“Hey, you never know, he might feel exactly the same way.”

“He’s Lukas. I don’t think he will. What if I screw up our friendship completely?”

“Well at least you’re finally telling him the truth. If he’s really your best friend he will understand.”

“Fuck,” Bastian ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“You can do it. I know you can.”

“God, I just, why did this have to happen?”

“Don’t ask me.”

Bastian rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, I’ve given you advice on what I think you should do. You don’t have to follow it of course, but you came here wanting advice and I’ve given it to you. In all honesty, Basti, if you don’t tell him now, you’re going to go mad.”

The younger boy sighed. He knew Philipp was right. He was just tremendously scared of the prospect of telling Lukas, his best friend of so long, that he had a crush on him.

He supposed it was a lot more than a crush. If he was honest with himself, the feelings had been there for a very long time, and he would be lying if he said that Lukas was the subject of lust, or infatuation. It was romantic feelings he harboured, that much was certain.

Now he’d actually accepted all of this, he felt that it would be easier to tell Lukas. After all, they had been best friends for such a long time, and he hoped with all his might that even if Lukas did not like what he told him, that he would at least be accepting. He feared that this would make it even worse than it was already, and really, he could not face losing Lukas as a friend. That was something he could not let happen.

…

Mats had enjoyed the weekend at his boyfriend’s immensely. Benni had seemed so relaxed, so at ease, and when Benni was in a good mood, Mats was in a good mood too.

He really should have known that it was too good to be true.

They were upstairs on Benni’s bed, Mats splayed across the duvet with his head in Benni’s lap when they heard a car door slam. Mats felt Benni freeze, and he did not have a good feeling about this.

“BENNI!” Sam’s yell was so loud that it made both of them jump. They heard hurried footsteps on the stairs and then Sam burst into the room. “Benni, Mama’s home, she’s back, you need to get Mats out now or she’s going to flip her shit.”

Mats sprang off the bed and started gathering his things together. Benni had gone wide-eyed and started cursing over and over under his breath. He looked petrified. “Fuck, just leave your stuff I’ll bring it to you later,” he told Mats and together they hurried downstairs, Sam following.

“Is there a back door or something?” Mats asked.

“No,” Benni’s voice shook, like he was about to burst into tears, and Mats drew him close quickly, hugging him tight. “Okay, it’s fine, I’ll just walk out, okay?” He could feel Benni trembling and he hated it.

Sam stood on the last step of the stairs watching his brother and Mats. Look after him, Mats mouthed over Benni’s shoulder, and Sam nodded.

“Text me, okay?” Mats said to his boyfriend, giving Benni a hasty peck on the lips, and then he hurried out the door. “I love you,” he called behind him.

“I love you too,” Benni said staring after him, in a state of shock.

“Come on,” Sam dragged him to the door. Benni watched nervously from the doorstep, as Mats passed his mother in the driveway, his head down. She took one look at him, and Benni knew she knew who he was, as she turned and stared at Benni and Sam on the doorstep.

They locked eyes, mother and son, just for a second and then Benni couldn’t look at her. He ran upstairs to his room, dreading what might happen now.

His mother entered the room a little while later. She didn’t look at him and that hurt. She didn’t _want_ to look at him.

“I will not have it in my house, Benedikt. I mean it. I don’t want to see him in this house ever again.”

“Mama - ”

“No.”

Benni felt tears well up in his eyes. “Mama, please - ”

But she walked away from him. She shut the door, with force and Benni was left alone, tears trickling down his cheeks and wondering where it had all gone wrong.

Then something inside of him snapped. It was like a bubble of unrealised, pent up anger had burst to the surface. These would be the last tears he cried, he vowed that. No more weakness, no more letting her walk all over him, he was going to stand up and do something. He leapt to his feet and stormed down the corridor after her. “Mama!” She stopped, almost at the stairs. “Mama look at me!”

She didn’t turn around, but Benni carried on.

“I’m your son, just look at me!”

Slowly, she swivelled. “You are not my son. I’ve told you before. My sons aren’t fags. My sons aren’t a _disappointment_!” She said the words with such anger, such vehemence, that Benni almost turned and ran. But he didn’t. He was sick and tired of not standing up to her, of just letting her walk all over him and make his life shit.

“I am your son. Whether you like it or not, I am your son, and nothing will change that. I am not going to change. I’m gay, and you or anything else can’t change that. I’m proud of my sexuality.”

He was also proud of how strong he sounded. He was fighting back, despite the tears in his eyes, and suddenly it didn’t matter so much that she just stared at him. He realised then that she would never change, no matter how much he hoped she would, and actually, it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would; instead, the realisation felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Everything was out in the open, he’d made his stance very clear and though it still hurt him that she wasn’t going to accept him, after everything she’d put him through he just wanted to give up. He had a boyfriend he loved more than anything in the world, he had his friends, he had Sam, suddenly trying to please her didn’t matter so much anymore.

He stared her straight in the eye. “I love you Mama. Even though you don’t accept me, even if you ignore me and even if you say I’m not your son. I am your son, and I will always love you no matter what, but I’m not going to change for you, or for anyone.”

She looked at the ground, and for the first time, Benni felt that maybe he had got through to her, that maybe she realised what she was doing. But then she turned and walked away and he stood there, listening to the thud of her footsteps on the stairs and the eventual slam of the front door that meant she had left the house.

Benni let out the sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in and returned to his room. He sat on the bed and reflected. He was so, so proud of himself. He’d stood up to her, he’d spoken his mind, and after the fear that had gripped him when he’d thought of the prospect of her discovering Mats in the house, he felt relatively at ease.

There were texts from his boyfriend on his phone, and he replied to them quickly.

_Is everything okay? – matsi <3_

_Benni? – matsi <3_

_It’s okay i’m fine x – benni <3_

_Can I come round tomorrow? x – benni <3_

_Of course. I love you. xxx – matsi <3_

_I love you too x – benni <3_

As soon as he’d pressed send, there was a knock at the door. “Benni?” It was Sam.

“Yeah, come in.”

His brother did so, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked anxious. “What did she say?”

Benni shrugged. He swallowed, cleared his throat. “The same she’s always told me.”

Sam looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Benni nodded. He knew he sounded almost defeated, but it was more the relief of having everything out there in the open. He’d stood up to her. He’d told her his opinion and that was all he could do. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Don’t let her tell you who you can and can’t love,” Sam said determinedly, and in that moment Benni felt a swell of love and appreciation for his little brother.

He nodded, just as determined. “I won’t.”

Sam leaned over and gave him a hug.

Benni meant it. He wouldn’t let her tell him what to do. It was his life.

He had Mats, he had Sam, he had his friends. It was going to be okay.

…

Miro was moving on. The week after the funeral was hard. He was a mixture of emotions, fine one minute, a sobbing mess the next, but slowly but surely less time was spent mourning his father and he was managing to move past the events of the previous months.

His relationship with his mother was closer than it had ever been, and this was something he was ever so grateful for. They talked on the phone and texted regularly, and Miro felt more like her son in that week than he had done in 18 years. Thomas seemed very supportive of this too, and was always asking how his mum was.

He stayed at Thomas’ for the entire week. Sometimes it made him upset, seeing Thomas with his father, but both Klaudia and Gerhard treated him as their second son, which he hadn’t realised was something he actually needed. At the beginning he had tried to tell Thomas that he would just find a hotel room for the moment, tried to apologise to the Müllers for the inconvenience he believed he brought them, but in a truly Müller fashion they just waved it away and insisted time and time again that he could stay with them for as long as he needed.

The best part about staying with the Müllers was dinner time. Though both adults were away for the most part of the day, dinner was when they came together and Miro realised how important the time was for them. He loved being included, even if he still felt on the periphery, still felt guilty for using their time, their money, their food. Dinner time was a time of laughter and love and it made Miro feel better, sitting at the table with Thomas and his family. It made him feel differently about his father’s passing. After a week of mourning, he started to stop looking at the negatives and instead at the positives of his father’s life. This was something that he would realise over time had been helped along so much by the Müllers. But of course, at the time, he still felt like a burden.

Thomas, of course, realised his misgivings. Thomas saw how Miro looked when Klaudia insisted he have second helpings every single night. Thomas saw him trying to leave money around the house, and every time Thomas picked it up and returned it to him in some sneaky way only he could manage. Gerhard had been in Berlin and had managed to see the national team play a friendly, and when he’d brought back personalised jerseys for both Miro and Thomas, Thomas watched his boyfriend’s face light up and then drop in a matter of seconds as he tried to say that he couldn’t accept the gift. Thomas’ dad had just laughed and pointed out that the shirt had ‘KLOSE’ and a massive number 11 – Miro’s number on the team – emblazoned on the back, and he couldn’t exactly give it to anyone else. Miro had then tried to give Gerhard money, but of course this was waved away, and Miro had to accept the gift. Thomas knew how Miro felt, but he also saw the immensely positive effect that his parents had on his boyfriend.

Fragments of Miro’s old self started to return, and Thomas watched his boyfriend move on.

At the same time, Miro watched Thomas grow.

He hadn’t really registered it over the past month; of course he’d been too caught up in everything, but Thomas had grown and matured so much. Not that he wasn’t mature before, but Miro got to see a side that he didn’t think anyone had ever seen of Thomas. It was amazing really, how the fun loving goofball was suddenly paired with a new Thomas, one who seemed just that bit older.

It had been a week since the funeral now. School was the following Monday, and somehow Miro could just about handle the thought of going back, where everyone would know about what had happened, where there would be gossip and glances, for everyone knew who he was, and rumours spread like wildfire at Weisberg. The whole school would have found out in some way or another. He just hoped more had happened in the holidays to distract them than his personal life.

It was also an opportunity to return to normality, to routine, and Miro relished this. He wanted to get back to worrying about tests and grades, and playing football, and whether Basti and Lukas were going to get their shit together. He was dreading school, but at the same time he knew it would be good for him.

They started discussing flats; Thomas insisted that he could stay as long as he wanted with the Müllers, but he realised that it was better for Miro to get his own place.

And so they set out flat hunting, a task that proved rather enjoyable for the both of them. It took Miro’s mind off any negative thoughts about his dad as they explored the city, went to look around places that were for sale. They’d found one that day that Miro had clearly liked, just a five minute walk from Thomas’ and a ten minute walk from school, small but as Miro reasoned, it was only for him, and he’d feel lonely by himself at night in a massive apartment. To this, Thomas had quipped that he would not be alone a lot of the time, and Miro had the decency to blush, and elbow his boyfriend in the ribs, because the owner of the place was standing _right there_ , and god, did he not have a _shred_ of tact in his entire body?

Luckily, the owner had not heard, and Thomas shot him a cheeky grin and swanned off to inspect the balcony.

It had been the only one that Miro felt properly comfortable in, and that was the biggest pointer that maybe this was the one.

They left, and he was able to smile because everything seemed like it might just be getting better. They walked down the road hand in hand. It was a little cold out, but Thomas’ hand was warm and he was chatting away to Miroslav in the way that Miro adored – often he had no idea what Thomas was on about but he loved listening to the boy talk. They passed a bakery and Thomas insisted on buying them hot chocolates and pastries, and Miro couldn’t say no of course, so armed with sweet drinks and sugary treats they carried on walking.

Miroslav didn’t even notice the church until Thomas came to a halt.

“Do you want to go in?” Thomas asked. “I mean, it’s not my thing but maybe it will be good.” Miro knew what he meant, knew what he was proposing Miro do.

He nodded, and so they went inside. It was empty, but Thomas lead him to a pew near the back and they sat down. Miro was clutching Thomas’ hand tight, because he knew that being here, thinking about his father, might cause him to break down again.

Thomas was looking up at the immense stained glass windows that allowed what little light there was into the church. Miro stared at his knees, at his hand in Thomas’ and then shut his eyes as he felt tears well up.

Miro thought of his father properly for the first time all week. Klose Sr. had always been a religious man. Miro thought of where he was now, where his soul might have been. Tears trickled down his cheeks, but they rolled silently, and for the first time it actually felt good to cry. It felt good to be there, with Thomas, in the serenity of the church and to just think about his father. After a week of trying to push any thought of him from his mind, this felt like a release, a sort of closure.

His tears subsided quickly, and they were left sitting quietly. Thomas was still examining the stained glass but when Miro squeezed his hand he looked back down and smiled gently. “Okay?”

Miro nodded, smiling his first genuine smile in a long while. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Thomas squeezed his hand back. “Good.”

They fell into silence again and out of the corner of his eye Miro watched Thomas crane his neck up to look at the windows, an appreciative little smile on his face. There was something about Thomas that seemed so simple, so honest, and Miro wondered if that was what had made Miro fall for him. Amid the maelstrom of Miro’s feelings and emotions Thomas brought serenity and such simplicity that it was quite astounding, considering the usual chaos that people associated with him.

Miro brushed their shoulders together and fiddled with hem of his coat using his other hand. After a while, it seemed he would have to wrench Thomas away from the beauty of the stained glass, and he cleared his throat. He was ready to go, he had the closure he needed.

“Can we go?” He asked, and Thomas nodded immediately. They got to their feet and Miro left the church with his hand in Thomas’, feeling like a massive part of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

…

Xabi had a habit of checking his phone immediately when he woke up. He found a text from Stevie, dated at 9am, moaning about the weather. Stevie’s club team had a game that morning, starting at 11 – it was now 10 – and the next text asked if he was going to be there.

_Freezing my nips off out here :/ - pom twat <3_

_You are coming, right? xx – pom twat <3 _

Xabi smiled and typed out a reply. The duvet was bunched around him like a cocoon, he was warm and comfortable, listening to the sound of rain on the roof, thankful he wasn’t outside like Stevie was. He almost considered not going, but he wanted to see Stevie play, and he also wanted to see the boy himself – besides, Stevie would kill him if he didn’t come.

_Um idk it’s a bit cold… xx - spanish bastard <3 _

Evidently Stevie didn’t realise he was joking.

_Oh it’s okay, of course you don’t have to – pom twat <3 _

_Would have been nice to see you though :( – pom twat <3 _

_I suppose I’ll see you tonight? xx – pom twat <3 _

Xabi smiled and rolled into a sitting position. He shivered as his feet hit the chilly floor, and typed out his reply.

_You idiot, of course I will be there. See you soon, handsome xxx – spanish bastard <3 _

_God I hate you sometimes – pom twat <3 _

_< 333333 – spanish bastard <3_

Chuckling, Xabi closed the conversation and opened Instagram. There was a post from Lukas, of the Berlin skyline captioned with “Bye Berlin, you’ve been great.” Xabi liked it and scrolled down.

He didn’t think the picture he saw next would effect him as much as it did.

It was a selfie, captioned with a single heart, of Mesut and the girl Xabi remembered seeing after their last football game of the season. The girl that Mesut had kissed across the table and in doing so, broken Xabi’s heart all over again. This time, his heart didn’t quite break, but he felt an ache, an ache he hadn’t felt much during his time with Stevie. It hurt, seeing the boy happy. In some ways, Xabi tried to wish that Mesut wasn’t happy, that Xabi was the only one who could look after him, make things okay.

He knew that thinking like this was arrogant, cruel; Mesut deserved happiness. If Xabi was being honest with himself, seeing Mesut happy was one of the things that had given _him_ true happiness. But still, some small part of him wished that Mesut felt as awful as he did right then.

The selfie was so obnoxiously couple-y, and Xabi despised it. Taking deep breaths, willing himself not to fall back into a rut of self pity, he locked his phone and lay back down on the bed.

He lay there for some time, trying to get Mesut off his mind. Though he’d tried to overcome all these feelings, it was really all in vain, and there was no doubt that they were still there.

Why did he have to fall in love so easily?

Eventually, he rolled out of bed, got ready and made his way down to the football pitch Stevie was playing at. He was a bit late, the match had already started, but he took his place in the stands, scanning the pitch for Stevie.

The Englishman noticed him and waved enthusiastically, and Xabi managed to smile back – his mind was still with Mesut. Stevie didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary and kept on playing. His team won 5-0, and Stevie had played brilliantly, with 3 goals and an assist for Carra on his goal, and had been awarded the man of the match trophy.

He found Xabi in the stands, pulling him in for a kiss and then proudly showing him the match ball and trophy he’d been awarded.

Carra bounded up to them, as ecstatic as Stevie was from the win, and Xabi noticed his eyes flit to Xabi’s hand on his friend’s waist and the grin that intensified on his face. “You two are adorable. We’re headed to Agger’s tonight if you would like to grace us with your presence.”

Xabi felt Stevie laugh, and he cracked a smile.

“We’ll be there,” Stevie said. Xabi loved the fact he said ‘we’ – it was like they came as a package deal. He liked that idea.

But instead, they went back to Stevie’s and lazed around. Stevie was in a good mood, which meant Xabi was in a good mood, and most of his earlier thoughts about Mesut were gone. But Stevie seemed to notice that something was troubling him.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, looking up at Xabi with adorable concern on his face. They were on Stevie’s bed, their backs against the wall, Stevie’s head on his shoulder.

“Nothing?” Xabi lied. He was unable to stop his voice going up at the end as if asking a question, clearly defensive, and the blush on his cheeks gave the game away.

“You’re a terrible liar, Xabi Alonso.” Stevie moved so he was sitting cross legged, facing Xabi, and reached over to grab the Spaniard’s hand. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, seriously, it’s fine.”

Stevie raised his eyebrows. Xabi loved and hated how the other boy knew him so well.

He let out a long sigh. “That guy in Germany. He… I thought I was over him? He posted this photo today with his girlfriend or whatever she is and it just… it made me feel like shit. And I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to spoil things.” His voice sounded clogged, like he was going to cry and he hated that he was getting _this_ emotional about Mesut.

Stevie looked sympathetic. “Xabs, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he’s not worth your time.”

“I know, I know.” He dragged a hand across his face, scratched his chin.

“Unfollow his Instagram if it makes you feel like shit.”

“At this rate I might.”

“Here, gimme your phone.”

“What?”

“Phone. Now. We’re gonna out-couple them.”

A grin spread across Xabi’s face. Stevie shuffled so he was leaning against Xabi, pulled one of the Spaniard’s arms around his waist and opened the camera app. Xabi kissed him on the cheek as he took the photo.

Settling back against Xabi’s chest, Stevie set the photo as Xabi’s background, sent it to himself, and then opened Instagram, grinning. “That might just be the cutest photo we’ve taken.”

Xabi pressed another kiss to his cheek, and rested his chin on Stevie’s shoulder, to watch as the other boy posted it to Instagram.

“There!” Stevie said triumphantly, and Xabi kissed him once more.

Later that night, Stevie asleep next to him, Xabi was restless. Despite spending the entire evening with the English boy, Mesut was still on his mind. He opened Instagram and looked at the photo they’d posted earlier. It was one of his favourites of the two of them, there was no doubt, and there were comments that Xabi scrolled through, from both his friends and Stevie’s friends.

_jcarragher: so this is what you two were doing tonight instead of coming to party….._

_philipplahm: Xabier. Who is this????????_

_matsihummels: CUTE_

_danielagger: you two are adorable_

Xabi smiled, particularly at Philipp’s, and wondered whether Mesut had seen the photo. He wondered whether Mesut cared as much about Xabi’s happiness as Xabi did Mesut’s.

Unrequited love was shit, Xabi decided.

It was his fault, he knew that, so he really could not blame Mesut for any part of his reaction.

It wasn’t that he wanted Mesut to see the photo and feel as shitty as he had done that morning – he’d come to the conclusion now that no matter how hard he tried he could not wish sadness on Mesut. It was more that he wanted Mesut to see that he had moved on, because that was the most important part.

Had he really moved on though? When the photo that morning had made him feel the way he did it was hard to argue that Xabi no longer had feelings for Mesut, and was that not essential to moving on? Xabi was still feeling something for Mesut, even though that had changed since Stevie had come into his life.

 _Stevie_.

Xabi hated that the timing was so shit. He still wondered whether maybe he only felt the way he did about the Englishman due to his fragility after everything that had happened with Mesut. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Stevie was no sort of rebound, he wasn’t using him to help himself. He felt he could truly love Stevie if he had the chance to, it was just absolutely shitty timing. He didn’t know if he was going to survive saying goodbye when the time came.

It was weird how slowly his feelings for Mesut had developed, yet how quickly they had also done for Stevie. After so long without any sort of romance in his life, he supposed it was maybe okay, but still it made him nervous how different the two boys were, and how different his experiences were with the both of them, yet somehow the feelings he had for them were similar.

Next to him, Stevie rolled over in his sleep, and flopped an arm across Xabi’s waist. Xabi remembered Miro’s advice; if he made Xabi happy, then just go for it. And he did. Stevie made him ever so happy, and Xabi knew he needed to put Mesut out of his mind, to save being a complete buzzkill whenever he was around the Englishman. He could do this. He could move on. Smiling, Xabi locked his phone, settled into Stevie’s embrace, shut his eyes and tried to forget all about Mesut.

…

Marco was having a crisis. He could not escape the guilt he felt about what he’d done with Robert. But at the same time, the past few days he’d been incredibly horny, and found himself thinking of Robert when he jacked off – Robert’s lips on him, Robert’s body against his, and only when he came did the guilt return. He’d cheated on his boyfriend.

He hadn’t spoken to Mario in so long. They were still in some sort of fight, that Marco had hoped would be all better when Mario returned, but now he was dreading the return of his boyfriend. How would he be able to face him? How could he look him in the eye? How could he kiss him and touch him after everything he had done with Robert?

No one knew about what he’d done, and he knew he had to keep it that way. If anyone found out, he was a dead man. He knew he should tell Mario, but he was so scared, terrified even, of what would happen.

He’d already broken Erik’s heart; he couldn’t do the same to Mario.

Robert had texted him a few times over the past few days – Marco had no idea how his number had ended up on the Polish boy’s phone, for he certainly did not recall giving it away. Marco left them unanswered.

It was not until he ran into Robert (in the supermarket, of all places, and with his mum, of all people) that he realised that he couldn’t just avoid his problems. He had to end things with Robert, or face the consequences. He noticed Robert before Robert noticed him, and quickly turned his back on the other boy, busying himself in choosing a type of milk.

After a minute or so of pretending not to see, he stupidly snuck a look at Robert, and found the other boy staring back at him.

Blushing furiously, he snapped his head away and grabbed the trolley. He saw his mother down the end of the aisle, and made to follow her, but Robert called after him. “Marco!”

He stopped dead, then swivelled slowly to look at the other boy. “What?”

“Don’t act so pleased to see me,” Robert smirked, approaching him with a swagger that infuriated Marco. It was as if Robert knew the effect he had on Marco – and he probably did.

“What do you want?” Marco asked, trying to not sound too hostile, but not wanting to encourage Robert.

Robert ignored his question. “How are you?”

Marco raised his eyebrows.

“You gonna give me _anything_ , Reus?”

Marco crossed his arms, and tried to glare at the Pole, but Robert simply smirked.

“Do you want to go for a drink tonight?”

Marco’s brain was screaming at him that alcohol and Robert were a dangerously enticing combination and that he really shouldn’t say yes, but then he thought back to his decision to end things. He couldn’t exactly tell the boy he wasn’t a fan of whatever it was that they had between them in the supermarket, so he nodded, hating himself for it.

“Same pub as last time?” Robert flashed a lewd grin at him, and Marco felt his cheeks flush.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“See you later babe.”

Marco opened his mouth to protest the pet name, but Robert had already turned and walked away. The blonde shook his head, frustrated, but also angry at himself for letting Robert have such an effect on him.

“Was that a friend from school?” His mother asked.

“He’s not my friend,” Marco said quickly, suddenly on the defensive.

“Oh, okay…” She looked confused.

 _What was Robert?_ Marco asked himself. They weren’t friends. They had only been acquaintances up until that night at the bar. He had met Robert only a handful of times, through Mario and the others, and really he had not taken much notice of the Polish boy other than registering that he was good looking. But then, it had been common knowledge that he and Manuel Neuer were fucking, and Marco hadn’t thought twice.

He had tried so many times to pin it all on the alcohol, but he knew, deep down, that he was at fault.

He drove to the pub with the intention of ending things for good. He had to do this. He couldn’t let lust get in the way.

But Robert looked so… Marco couldn’t place it, and when Robert followed him to the bathroom and kissed him up against the door of the locked cubicle, he couldn’t help but knot his hands in that hair, press himself up against that body, feel arousal curl in his stomach.

Thank god he’d declined a drink, because it was then that he snapped out of it.

Mario. His boyfriend. He couldn’t let this happen again. Not a third time. He couldn’t. He broke away from Robert, shaking his head, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

“No,” he said, ignoring how his voice wavered. “I can’t do this.”

Robert stared at him, and Marco felt for the first time that he’d actually shocked the other boy. The Pole did not say anything, just looked at Marco, his mouth slightly open, panting, but not responding.

And so Marco fled.

…

Thomas was making lunch, bustling around the kitchen as usual while Miro sat at the counter. The younger boy’s phone began to ring. “It’s Mesut,” Miro told him, and Thomas hurriedly wiped his hands before answering.

“Hey Mes.”

“Have you seen his Instagram?” The other boy’s voice came down the phone sounding panicky, urgent, and Thomas was a little taken aback.

“Whose Instagram?”

“Xabi’s.”

“What? No?”

“Look now.”

“Xabi’s Instagram?” He told him and Miroslav opened the app.

“Ah,” Miro said, and Thomas gave him a questioning look.

“Can you see it?” Mesut’s voice was urgent from the phone.

“The newest post?” Thomas asked.

Mesut made a strangled sound of affirmation.

“Yeah.”

“Who is that?” Mesut sounded almost distraught.

Miro was motioning for Thomas to hand over the phone, but the younger boy just put him on speakerphone.

“Mesut?” Miro asked, in a tone of cautiousness.

“Who is that guy?” Mesut said urgently.

“That’s Stevie.”

“Who the fuck is Stevie?”

“Why do you care so much? Didn’t you just put one up the other day of you and your girl-” Miro’s look of exasperation shut him up.

“Stevie is Xabi’s… I don’t know what he is. Xabi met him in England.” There was a pause. “Look Mesut, there are some things you probably need to know if you still care about him at all. Best not over the phone. We’re at Thomas’ if you want to come over.” He shot a questioning look at Thomas as if to ask if that was okay, and Thomas just nodded vigorously.

“Okay,” Mesut’s response was shaky and they were both a bit worried. “Okay, I’ll see you guys in a bit.” The dial tone sounded, and Miro sighed.

“Who the fuck is Stevie?” Thomas echoed Mesut’s words from before.

Miro ran a hand through his hair. “I actually completely forgot to tell you about all this. I don’t want to have to explain it all twice. Wait till Mesut gets here.”

“At least some indication?”

“The English guy Xabi’s fucking. Or maybe not fucking. But is definitely sexually involved with.”

Thomas stared at him wide eyed. “Shit.”

“Yep.”

…

“So you’re not straight?” This was what Thomas greeted Mesut with when he opened the door.

Mesut paled, then blushed, then looked at the ground determinedly. Luckily Miroslav appeared behind Thomas. “Jesus Christ Tom, just let him in.”

Thomas stood back to let Mesut into the house and they went up to Thomas’ bedroom.

“You’re not though, are you…” Thomas said, with a hint of a smile. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be freaking out about Xabi being with someone else. Took you long enough, Özil.”

“Thomas, you’re not helping,” Miro said rather sternly, and Thomas shut up immediately. “Okay, Mes, what’s up?” The nickname reminded Mesut so much of Xabi that it made his heart hurt.

“I… I fucked up. With him. I fucked up so bad.”

“If this is in reference to the Breaking of Xabi Alonso’s Heart, then yes, yes you did.” Miro shot Thomas another cautionary look.

“You have feelings for him?” Miro probed.

“Every time I kiss Sara I think about him. I think about kissing him.” He couldn’t even say Xabi’s name.

Miroslav and Thomas shared a look, then both turned back to Mesut in weird synchrony. “Well shit,” Thomas said.

“I just miss him. A lot. And I…” He shook his head as he trailed off.

“You what?”

“I uh… had… uh… I…”

“Spit it out.”

“Ihadawetdreamabouthimlastnight.” It came out in a mangled rush, but the other two understood him perfectly. Thomas looked rather amused, to Mesut’s annoyance, while Miroslav looked pensive, and almost sad. Mesut himself was blushing so much he thought he might pass out.

Both Thomas and Miro were quiet for a second, then Thomas said; “Well you’re definitely not straight then.”

“I don't know what to do,” Mesut exclaimed, dismayed. “I fucked everything up, I fucked it up so much, don’t tell me again, I know that. I hurt him. And I regret it so much.”

“You didn’t just hurt him, you broke his heart, Mesut.”

“I know, god I know.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I saw the picture and it all just hit me that I… I did the wrong thing. I’ve been lying to myself for so long but it finally made me realise that maybe I do feel the same way about him. But that scares me so so much and I don’t know what to do because I rejected him and I did it in the worst way possible and - ” he was panicking.

Thomas placed a hand on his knee, suddenly serious. “Mes, hey, calm down, it’s okay.”

Mesut looked up at him, tears welling in his eyes.

“What are you so scared of?” Miro asked gently.

“B-being gay,” Mesut replied, his lip trembling. “It’s just another failure to add to my parents’ endless checklist.”

“But why is it a failure!” Thomas exclaimed.

“ _I_ don’t think it’s a failure,” Mesut told him. “But my parents would probably kill me if they found out.” He put his head in his hands. “But I was also scared about being with him. Not because of him but, because, I don’t… He told me he was _in_ _love_ with me. And… A-and I - I don’t understand how he could want to l-love me. I was scared I’d end up hurting him because… because I…” He trailed off. “I wouldn’t want to love me,” he said in the tiniest voice possible.

“You shut the fuck up right now,” Thomas said, tossing a pillow at him. “Why couldn’t he love you? Who couldn’t love you Mesut? Honestly, you’re like one of the most loveable people I know. I love you.”

“That’s different,” Mesut shot back.

“No it’s not.”

“We don’t choose the people we fall in love with,” Miro said. “Xabi chose you to sit with us in Spanish, and he chose you as his friend, as one of his best friends, but he didn’t choose to fall in love with you. He can’t help that. What happened at the end of term ruined him, and do you know why?”

Mesut just looked at him helplessly.

“Because he couldn’t just choose to stop loving you. He had to keep going, with the knowledge that you didn’t feel the same way in his head, trying to fight the fact that he was in love with you, that he is in love with you. That’s not an easy battle to win.”

“I love it when you get all metaphorical and wise,” Thomas chuckled.

Miroslav rolled his eyes at him.  
“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that you need to stop thinking people can’t love you, that Xabi couldn’t love you, just because you’ve got some… baggage. I’ve got a hell of a lot of baggage and this one still puts up with me.” Thomas grinned at him. “You’re an amazing person, Mesut and it’s only been a few weeks. I’m sure he still feels something for you. The feelings won’t have gone away. There’s still time for you to get a second chance, if he lets you. And he might not. But he might and this time you can’t be scared; you just have to go for it.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Mesut said helplessly. “I don’t know how to go for it. Especially with… with that photo… Did you meet him? When you went to England?”

“Stevie? Yeah.”

“Are they…”

“Together? Kind of. Xabi told me that it wasn’t going to last past the holidays, but I don’t know, Mes, it was clear from the days I spent there that they’re pretty into each other.”

Mesut let out a shaky sigh. What if he’d lost his chance?

“Honestly, Mesut, I don’t know what they are. You’d have to talk to Xabi if you want answers. I was only there for a few days at the beginning, I have no idea what has gone on since then.”

“Are you and that girl official?” Thomas asked.

Mesut shook his head.

“Well that’s good then, I suppose.”

Mesut put his head in his hands.

“Hey,” Miro said, “Don’t give up. He’ll be back soon and you can sort things out.”

“Maybe break things off with that girl so there’s no confusion,” Thomas added hastily.

Mesut nodded. “Okay.” He looked down at his hands, brought them together, and tried to stop himself shaking. He didn’t feel close to panicking but with the anxiety of having to face Xabi in the next few days, he started to lose it a little bit. He breathed a shaky sigh. “What if… what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Xabi’s a massive softy. You know that. Of course he’ll want to talk to you.”

“You can do this, Mes,” Thomas said, rubbing Mesut’s shoulder.

Mesut nodded, trying to be confident. It scared him immensely but he knew that this was it.

He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

…

Xabi had one day left in Liverpool. One day in a city he’d fallen for, with a boy he’d also fallen for. Stevie seemed to be ignoring the fact that they only had less than 48 hours left together, but his clinginess and neediness conveyed to Xabi that he was dreading their separation just as much he was.

They went out for dinner on Xabi’s last night, to a tiny little restaurant around the corner from Stevie’s house where it was clear that Stevie was a regular.

“Ah, Stevie lad,” beamed the man who greeted them. “How’ve you been?”

“Good thanks, Harry,” Stevie grinned. “Can I get a table for two?”

“For two?” Harry smiled impishly. “Who’s this strapping young fella you’ve brought with you?”

“This is Xabi,” Stevie said, motioning for Xabi to step forward so he could introduce him. “Xabi this is Harry. I’ve known him since I was born.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Xabi smiled.

“Watched him grow up into a good lad, I have,” Harry shook Xabi’s hand vigorously. “Where you from? Don’t sound British?”

“Spain, but I live in Germany.”

Harry, who of course was a Liverpool fan through and through, was also well educated on European football, and engaged Xabi in a ten-minute-long discussion about both the Spanish and German football leagues, before they were finally seated, and Harry bustled off to get them menus.

“Sorry about that,” Stevie said when they’d settled down at their table in the corner.

Xabi shook his head. “It’s fine. He’s very nice. Very… enthusiastic. It’s nice.”

“That’s one word for it,” Stevie laughed.

“You have known him for a long time?”

“He’s one of my dad’s best friends.”

Xabi nodded.

Harry returned with the menus and left them in peace to chat and choose their food. The dinner was very nice, and despite Stevie’s best efforts Harry returned multiple times throughout the evening with new questions varying from Xabi’s opinion on Bayern’s new coach to what he thought about Liverpool’s prospects in the Champions League.

When they had paid, Harry shook Xabi’s hand enthusiastically one last time then shot a wink at Stevie. “He’s a keeper this one.”

Stevie had gone crimson, much to Xabi’s amusement, and Harry waved them away, their stomachs full. When they got back to Stevie’s Xabi flopped back onto the bed. “I’m so full,” he exclaimed, rubbing his tummy.

“Careful, Harry’s food will make you fat,” Stevie laughed, sitting down next to him and poking at his stomach. “It’s very easy to get addicted.”

Xabi grinned. “Well I’ll definitely be coming back to try everything else on the menu.”

At this, Stevie’s face fell. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Xabi shut his eyes. Stevie saying it made it feel real. He felt the other boy lie back next to him and an arm flopped across his waist. “I don’t want to not say it to you tomorrow,” Stevie whispered. Xabi’s eyes were still shut but he suddenly tensed, unsure as to what Stevie was about to say. “I… god, you mean the world to me. And I would tell you that I love you, and…” he trailed off. “I do love you, but I know it just makes it harder to say goodbye tomorrow.”

Xabi opened his eyes to see Stevie looking at him. The words came easily, however. “I love you too.” He let out a chuckle, and Stevie looked at him like he was insane. “I’ve known you two weeks and I love you,” Xabi laughed. “God, Stevie I’m leaving and I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I hope you know that I love you.”

Stevie kissed him then, and Xabi kissed him back and in that moment it was like there was nothing else that mattered in the world but them. Mesut was forgotten, for once. It was just Stevie and Xabi and neither would have it any other way.

Kissing lead to touching, and there was an urgency that had never been present with them before. This was it. Two weeks had come to an end and here they were, just like any other night, but with the knowledge that this beautiful thing they had between them was about to end. And suddenly, it felt like maybe they were going to go all the way.

Stevie already had his own pants off and was making quick work of Xabi’s fly. And he thought that Stevie would just go down on him as usual, but when he’d removed all of Xabi’s clothes he was manoeuvring Xabi into a position on his hands and knees.

Xabi’s heart was racing. Stevie’s hand was stroking him quickly, but he wasn’t really registering the pleasure for he was too nervous as to what was about to happen.

“Stevie,” he choked out. “Stevie, please.”

His urgency was misread, and Stevie squeezed his ass hard. “Shush, babe. Be patient.”

“S-stevie, no.” His voice came out all shaky, and suddenly Stevie stilled, his hands on Xabi’s ass, about to move his head down, but now pausing.

“Babe?”

“I’m a virgin,” Xabi stammered, the words dragged into one as he ducked his head. He could feel himself blushing, his cheeks and ears hot with embarrassment.

“What?” Stevie asked, almost in disbelief, and his hands fell away. It was dangerously quiet and Xabi hated the silence.

But he knew he’d blown it. It was their last night together and he’d blown it. He’d always worried that he wouldn’t be good enough for Stevie, just like he hadn’t been good enough for Mesut, and now here was the proof. He rolled away from the other boy and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space for a few seconds, then began to pull his shirt back on. It was still silent between them.

And then:

“What are you doing?” Stevie’s voice came from behind him.

“I…” Xabi’s hands were shaking so much that he was struggling to get the shirt over his head.

“Come back here, babe,” and Stevie’s arms looped around him, pulling him back onto the bed. He was still embarrassingly hard, and he couldn’t meet the other boy’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Xabi’s head snapped up, looking at him with wide eyes. “I was just surprised no one’s jumped you yet, because I’ve been unable to keep my hands off you for the past two weeks.” He reached out and cupped Xabi’s cheek, his thumb stroking at the stubble and coaxing a smile from Xabi’s mouth. “I would love to be the one to pop your cherry.”

“I didn’t think people even said that,” Xabi murmured, a smile back on his face.

“Well I’m saying it to you, now. That ass is all mine. Now lie back on the bed.”

When Xabi didn’t move, Stevie pushed him gently. “You think I’m kidding? Lie back on the bed.”

“But I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“So? I’m not letting you go without making love to you.”

Xabi blushed again. “Such a romantic, Gerrard.”

“Not gonna deny it.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Xabs, Jesus, I’m more than okay. I was more than okay with this the second I met you. It’s more a question of you okay with this?”

Xabi hesitated, but it was only for a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

Stevie smirked. “Then I’m going to make you scream, Alonso.”

…

When Lukas turned up at Bastian’s the tension in the air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

Bastian had never blushed more in his life than in those few seconds they stood on the doorstep, not looking at each other, until finally Lukas murmured a greeting.

“We should go in,” Bastian suggested, and Lukas nodded, following his friend inside and to his room.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to Berlin,” Bastian blurted out after some more terribly awkward silence. He blushed even more.

“Well we weren’t exactly on speaking terms,” Lukas pointed out.

Bastian wanted to kick himself. “Oh yeah, well, yeah I suppose that’s true.” Lukas laughed, and that eased the tension a little bit.

“Honestly, I can’t even remember what I’m supposed to be angry at you for,” the Pole said.

Bastian managed to laugh, as he prepared for what he was about to say. “It’s my fault, really.”

“I provoked you, in that game, that was my fault - ”

“No. It was my fault long before you did anything.” He looked at Lukas, looked him right in the eye and suddenly he just wanted to run, to leave all his problems behind and just escape. That was not an option. “Can… can we sit down?” He said, his voice noticeably shaky, and for a second he saw a flash of concern in Lukas’ eyes.

“Bastian,” Lukas said, and it was then that he realised Lukas knew that this was more than just a small fight. Lukas never used his full name. He knew this was something serious, and therefore Bastian couldn’t back out now. “What is it?”

They sat down, Bastian took a deep breath, then began. “Before we started ignoring each other I was acting weird around you. I know you know that, Fips told me.”

Lukas nodded.

“Well, there’s a reason for that.” His heart was pounding. “I was acting weird because…” He couldn’t meet Lukas’ eyes.

“Because…?”

“I can’t… I don’t know how to say this,” he felt his heart quicken.

Then Lukas put his hand on Bastian’s knee. “Basti, please, just tell me what’s wrong. You’re my best friend, please.”

“Yeah well… That’s just the thing. I want… For a while now I’ve wanted more. Like… I like you. Not just as a friend.”

Lukas stared at him. “Wait… you mean you – you – me?”

Bastian just nodded.

They were both still and silent for a while, then Lukas pulled his hand back from Bastian’s knee. Instantly, Bastian’s heart was flooded with disappointment. He’d hoped, hoped so hard that maybe Lukas felt the same way about him. He stared at the ground. He didn’t know what to do now.

And then Lukas brought his hand up to Bastian’s cheek, and tilted the blonde’s head up.

Bastian stared at him. That was no ordinary gesture. His stomach was doing flips and he could feel his heart beating at twice the normal speed. _He’s going to kiss me._

He couldn’t read Lukas, despite looking him straight in the eye.

In the end, it wasn’t even he who closed the gap. He was too shocked, rendered unable to move. Lukas was kissing him, experimentally, tentatively, but he wasn’t pulling away and the feel of their mouths together was so indescribably perfect that Bastian never wanted it to end.

He needed air, and regrettably detached his lips from his best friend’s.

They broke apart and stared at each other.

......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not even sure what i think about this one. there are probably millions of typos. endless apologies for the wait.  
> please, if you're still here reading this piece of trash, let me know what you thought. it means the world.  
> i love you all.  
> -c


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denial, goodbyes, reconciliations, tears. The return to school brings many things, both good and bad, but really it's just another day at Weisburg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: there is talk of rape/non consensual sex in this chapter.

They held each other’s gaze for a split second before Lukas looked away. The silence between them was deafening, and Bastian didn’t dare say anything. They just sat there, Bastian painfully aware of the fact he was breathing far too heavily and rapidly, wanting to reach out and touch Lukas but knowing that he couldn’t.

He had no idea what his friend was feeling. The fact that Lukas had kissed him at all was still taking time to process, and that was just for him. He’d had time to understand – albeit minimally – the crush he had on Lukas, but for the other boy this was all new.

It had all felt so right. Bastian had never thought in his wildest dreams that Lukas would be the one to kiss him. He tried to make sense of it. Had he been blind to Lukas’ sexuality? Had it all been lies, when Lukas would blow everyone off if they so much as proposed the idea of him being anything but straight? Did he feel the same way as Bastian?

But the surprise on his face, when Bastian had confessed, that must mean that Lukas had not felt the same way as Bastian had for the past few months. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the same way now. He’d _kissed_ him. Lukas had kissed him.

And at thought, he only wanted to kiss him again.

Tentatively, Bastian reached out for Lukas’ hand, and their fingers brushed. He was warm – he always was – and Bastian’s hand settled on top of Lukas’, but only for a second, because after that tiny touch of contact, Lukas snatched it away and stood up.

Bastian felt his heart lurch.

“I have to go,” Lukas said, his voice strangled, constrained. He didn’t look at him, spoke the words as if it was just him in the room, alone, matter of fact. And then he was heading towards the door.

Bastian knew he couldn’t let him run away, but he was sitting there, still in shock from what had just happened. Lukas was already out the door and Bastian could hear his footsteps on the stairs before he managed to get up and follow, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Lukas!” He yelled, clattering down the stairs to see the other boy disappearing out the door. “Lukas stop!”

Lukas didn’t turn around as he made his way towards the gate. Bastian ran after him. “Wait, please!” He threw out a hand, grabbing Lukas’ shoulder but the other boy shrugged him off.

“Leave me alone,” Lukas said, but it was weak, and there was something in his voice that made Bastian think that maybe Lukas was doing something he didn’t want to do. It made Bastian hesitate. He’d taken so long to be accustomed to his feelings that he thought maybe it would be good to give Lukas space.

His hand fell to his side and he just watched Lukas go, hoping with all his might that his best friend might turn around, yet knowing he would not.

…

Mats woke to the sound of his phone text alert.

_I’m outside… sorry I’m so early xx – benni <3_

_Coming xx - matsi <3_

He opened the door to find his boyfriend on the front step, looking far more calm and collected than Mats had expected him to be. “Hey you,” Mats gave him a quick kiss. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Benni replied, moving towards him to wrap his arms around Mats’ waist. “Yeah I’m fine.”

Mats hugged him back, holding him tight, then pulling him inside. They headed up to his room, and Benni fell onto his bed, smiling beautifully up at the ceiling. “I stood up to her, Mats. I stood up to her and I didn’t cry – much – and I feel… I don’t know…”

Mats sat down next to him, running his hand through Benni’s hair, sweeping it off his face, and making his boyfriend chuckle. “I was worried, I’m not going to lie,” he said, and Benni sat up, shuffling back against the wall and looking at him. “What happened after I left?”

Benni explained everything. He talked with his hands, something Mats loved about him, as he described how he’d stood up to his mother, and Mats was swelling with pride, for once able to put the anger and frustration he felt about Benni’s situation to the side. Benni’s eyes shone, not only with pride but Mats thought he also saw tears.

“I’m glad I did it, but I’m still confused, and it still hurts that she had that reaction to you,” he fiddled with his fringe, trying to disguise the fact that he was close to tears. His voice wasn’t doing the shaky thing it did when he was about to cry, which gave Mats hope, but still it made Mats feel so much to see the effect this one little act had had on him. Benni looked up at him. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“If you think it was the right thing, then it’s the right thing,” Mats said.

“That's not what I asked,” Benni was smiling a little.

“I don’t have another answer for you.”

Benni sighed. “I just… What if… what if I screw up any chance of a relationship there is?” His voice was soft, he spoke without a stutter, and that only reinforced how much this question has been playing on his mind.

Mats took his hand. “Benni… I hate it, but I don’t think she’s going to change.”

 Benni looked down quickly, and Mats thought he heard a sniffle. Then he spoke: “I know. God, I think I’ve always known that.”

Mats tightened his grip on his hand.

“I know it was the right thing to do,” his head rose again, looking at Mats in the eye.  
“And I’m proud of myself.”

“I’m proud of you. I love you.”

He’d said those words to only one of his previous boyfriends, but saying them to Benni meant a whole lot more. He did truly love this boy, and saying the words over again did not make them lose meaning, they only made his heart race every single time, as did the way Benni would say them back, the little smile on his face the most precious thing Mats had ever seen. God he loved Benedikt Höwedes with his entire being.

A new smile, so beautiful, so radiant, broke over Benni’s face, and Mats knew then that this was all that mattered, that Benni had brought him to his knees, and maybe that was completely unintentional but he had done and Mats knew there was no going back. “You don’t know how good it is to say those words,” Benni told him quietly. “I love you too.”

Mats chuckled and pulled him in not for a kiss, but for a hug, feeling that it might mean more. “Oh I think I know.”

…

Stevie accompanied the Alonso’s to the airport. He held Xabi’s hand tight during the taxi ride, and didn’t really say much until they got out and headed inside. The rest of Xabi’s family were organising their boarding passes, and Xabi stood a little way away with Stevie, neither boy really knowing what to say, but both dreading what was about to come.

Xabi reached out and grabbed his hand, and he felt Stevie squeeze it back as they stood together, in their own little world, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the airport.

“I can’t believe you’re going,” Stevie echoed his words from the night before.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” Xabi murmured, and pulled Stevie into his arms.

“God I’m going to miss you,” Stevie said into Xabi’s shoulder, his voice muffled by the fabric of the other boy’s shirt.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

They fell silent as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms. And then:

“Please don’t go.”

Xabi’s heart broke a little bit at those words, and he just hugged Stevie tighter, not wanting to let go of him ever. “I have to,” he choked out, willing himself not to cry. He stroked Stevie’s hair, dropped a kiss into it. “We will meet again.”

Stevie withdrew from Xabi’s embrace to wipe his eyes, which were filled with tears. “You better not forget about me, Xabier Alonso.”

“Never, _mi amor,"_ Xabi smiled, and leaned in to kiss him one last time.

Stevie was crying, and the kiss was a bit wet, but Xabi never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay here, kissing Stevie in Liverpool, for the rest of eternity, but eventually they had to break apart and Stevie just wrapped himself around him, holding him so tight that he almost thought that the Liverpudlian wouldn’t let go.

When he did, he laughed, dragging a hand across his eyes. “God I’m a mess. See what you do to me?”

They both laughed and Xabi pulled him in for one last hug. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, pressed a kiss to Stevie’s tear stained cheek, then let go, grabbing his suitcase and walking towards his family, who were standing near the gate. As they stood in line, he kept looking round to check Stevie was still there, and the other boy had not moved.

It was finally their turn to have their luggage checked, and to go through to the gate. Xabi gave his suitcase to the man behind the desk, walked through the metal detector, then looked back one last time at Stevie. The other boy waved at him, and even from a distance Xabi could see his smile. He smiled back, waved, and walked towards the gate, looking back again and again until Stevie was out of sight.

…

_hey, my flight comes in tomorrow morning. Can I see you tomorrow? x – mario <3_

Marco saw the text and felt his heart fill with dread. He didn’t want to see Mario, not after everything he’d done. He knew he couldn’t face his boyfriend, wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. But he knew he had to.

They organised to meet up at Mario’s place. Marco was positively terrified, and didn’t sleep well that night, which meant that he turned up to Mario’s looking a little bedraggled, and this didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey,” Mario greeted him with a hug, and the slightest graze of lips against cheek. “You don’t look… great. Is everything okay?”

“Haven’t been sleeping that well recently.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. There was just a lot more to the story. A lot more that he couldn’t bring himself to tell Mario.

They headed to Mario’s room, Marco trying to stop his hands shaking, but Mario made no attempt to sit down. He took Marco’s face in his hands and pulled him in for a kiss.

Instantly, Marco relaxed. He rested his hands on Mario’s waist and kissed his boyfriend back, touching him carefully, gently, remembering how much he’d missed this, how much he loved this.

When they broke apart, Marco tensed up again, realising that if he was to tell Mario, that this would be the time.

There was a silence. And he couldn’t do it.

He waited. He was a coward and he waited for Mario to say something, as if it was the other boy’s fault, like he was the one who should be sorry. And Mario, sweet, perfect, gentle Mario, did exactly what he had expected him to do.

“I’m sorry,” the younger boy murmured, taking Marco’s hand. “I’m sorry for the things I said about Erik. I was being selfish, and I shouldn’t have treated your friend like that. You’re not worth losing, and I shouldn’t have thought that Erik would get in the way of us, because I know he won’t.”

Marco nodded. His lips wouldn’t move, though his heart was screaming at him to say something, to admit to the things he’d done. But he couldn’t. He just nodded again and pulled Mario into his arms, kissing him once more, trying to believe that maybe if he kissed him it would make up for everything he’d done with Robert.

He hated himself, but Mario was smiling at him and kissing him back and everything seemed to be okay, and now he was even more scared to say anything because it all seemed to have fixed itself. It was ignorance, arrogance, for him to think like that, but he knew he couldn’t admit to what he’d done.

“I love you,” Mario told him, and Marco said it back, pushing away all thoughts of Robert. It was the truth. He loved Mario. And it was for that reason, that he could never, ever tell him what he’d done.

…

It was strange for Xabi, being back in Germany. He missed Stevie, but they’d talked on Facebook every day since he’d been home. He turned his thoughts instead to school, and the fact that he would have to see Mesut the next day in Spanish, and at football practice. He had no idea how the other boy was going to react to him.

The situation was so difficult. Despite his best efforts, Xabi still felt strongly about Mesut, but he’d just come back from two weeks of flirting and sex with Stevie. He remembered the beginning of the year, when things had been so much simpler and he hadn’t met Stevie or Mesut. No romance had been in his life until now and suddenly it had hit him like a train and had made things very difficult. He wouldn’t change a thing; he knew that life without Stevie or Mesut would have not been the same.

He pondered, however, whether Mesut was even going to be in his life anymore. He’d not received any reply to the countless messages and calls he’d sent the other boy, and with school the next day it was impossible to tell where they stood. He remembered after the kiss, and how Mesut had taken the seat behind them, away from Xabi, too far, and how it had broken his heart all over again.

If that was the case tomorrow, he didn’t know if he could survive it. All he wanted was for Mesut to trust him again – it didn’t have to be romantic he just wanted his friend back.

He considered sending Mesut another message; it had been over a week since his last one what with spending so much time with Stevie. Sighing, he opened his phone, going to his texts with Mesut. The last one read:

_Please, just know that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for the things that happened that night, and I know that ruining our friendship was all my fault. I’m sorry I am like this. At the very least, I hope you can accept my apology. I’m so sorry. – xabs_

Xabi read through the others, nearly ten texts that had all gone unanswered. There were more on Facebook, plus calls and voicemails he had left – he didn’t even know if Mesut checked his voicemail.

Sighing again, he locked his phone. He couldn’t send another one. Mesut would have told him if he’d changed his mind, Xabi reasoned. Sending another one would look desperate, and potentially lower his chances of Mesut ever being friends with him ever again.

He messaged Stevie instead. He knew the boy was at his football game, but he would see the message later, even if they went out partying after a victory. It was the semifinals and he knew how much it meant to Stevie, he just wished he’d been there long enough to see it.

_Hey. I’m freaking out about going to school tomorrow, I did not do enough study in the holidays thanks to you! :P hope you won your game today, (sorry I wasn’t able to be there to cheer for you) and try not to drink too much tonight. Miss you – Xabi Alonso_

The screen said Stevie hadn’t been online in four hours, and Xabi knew he’d eventually see the message so he closed their chat.

Stevie.

Mesut.

Both?

He didn’t want to have to choose, and long into the night Xabi tossed and turned, trying not to think about either of them.

…

The night before school was due to restart was Miro’s last night with the Müllers’. He’d moved most of his belongings into his new apartment, and though he was thoroughly grateful to his boyfriend’s parents for everything they’d done, and in some way he just wanted to stay with Thomas because he felt safe, he knew that it would be better not only for him but for Thomas’ parents, if he found his own place.

They all had dinner together and watched the Sunday night film on the television, and Miro felt so included in their family that it made his heart burst with appreciation. He was cuddled up to Thomas on the sofa across from his boyfriend’s parents, and he felt so at ease, Thomas’ hand stroking up and down his arm, his head on Thomas’ chest.

He noticed Thomas was a little quiet. For once, Miro was probably making more conversation that he was, but there seemed to be something on his mind, as his parents seemed to notice too, when Thomas offered to do the dishes, declining help and leaving Miro with his parents.

“Has he been like this all day?” Klaudia asked. This was obviously not a regular occurrence at home, for Thomas to be this quiet.

Miro shook his head. “He’s been fine, I’m not sure what’s brought this on.”

“You’re probably be able to find out easier than us,” Gerhard chuckled.

Miro smiled and got to his feet, heading into the kitchen to find his boyfriend draining the sink, a pile of clean dishes draining on the counter.

He gave Miro a little smile, not a proper Thomas smile. “Hey.”

“Hey you,” Miro smiled back. “What’s up?”

Thomas rubbed a hand at his eye and let out a yawn. “Tired. Don’t wanna go to school.”

Miro chuckled. “Neither. I’m pretty tired too, if you want to go upstairs?”

Thomas nodded. They bid goodnight to his parents and headed up to Thomas’ room.

After they’d both showered and prepared their things for school, Miro wrapped his arms around Thomas under the blankets and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “What’s on your mind?”

Thomas rolled over and Miro could just make out his face in the light sneaking in from the moon. This time it wasn’t an excuse. “I’m worried about school tomorrow.”

Miro raised a hand and touched his cheek gently, stroking along and tracing up to his hairline. “Why are you worried?”

He felt Thomas shrug. “I don’t know. Just… after everything that’s happened… it feels like it’s going to be different. I’m worried about Mesut, I’m worried about Benni, I’m worried about you… I don’t know.”

“I’m worried about Mesut too,” Miro agreed. “And Xabi. But why are you worried about me?”

“Don’t want people to treat you differently. I just want school to be the same as it was.”

“Nothing much will have changed. It’s Weisburg, there’s enough new drama each day that I’m old news.”

Thomas smiled a little at this. “I suppose. I’m still worried about Mesut and Xabi though.”

“Me too, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“That’s what annoys me too.”

“They’ll sort it out. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope so.”

Miro leant forward and pressed a kiss softly to Thomas’ lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Thomas replied, and ducked his head so that he was pressed up against Miro’s chest. Miro smiled into his hair, and tightened his arms around his boyfriend, and together they drifted off to sleep.

…

There was orchestra rehearsal on the morning of the first day back at school, a cruel way to bring the music boys back into the normal routine. Everyone traipsed in looking tired and resentful; they all wanted another week of holiday.

Mesut turned up with only a few minutes to spare, and muttered a quiet “Morning” to his group, who were all already set up and only waiting for the conductor.

“You’ve looked better,” Toni smirked.

Mesut didn’t even glare at him, just sent him a kind of hopeless look and Toni’s eyebrows furrowed in concern at once, a guilty expression on his face.

“You okay Mes?” Benni asked tentatively, but the boy was already busying himself with his cello, and ignored him.

“Well shit,” Toni said under his breath. There was no more discussion on the matter as the conductor was summoning them to sit down, and all they could do was shoot concerned looks at Mesut.

Benni was texting Thomas. Being at the piano and only playing occasionally had its benefits.

_something’s up with Mesut?? When are you getting to school? – benni_

He got a reply almost instantaneously.

_oh… yeah I know a thing or two about that. I’m on my way now, meet you in the cafeteria after rehearsal? – mülli_

_okay. – benni_

Their rehearsal went smoothly, but before any of the music boys could get to Mesut he was leaving, his head down.

“Okay what the fuck is up with him?” Marco approached Benni, closely followed by Toni.

“Thomas apparently knows. Come on, let’s go.”

Thomas was sitting in the cafeteria, with Miroslav, looking sombre. His friends took the empty seats and Thomas clasped his hands together on the table. “Right.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Toni rolled his eyes.

Benni shot him a look.

“After all of the drama before the holidays, Mesut’s worked out he actually has feelings for dearest Xabi Alonso.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Toni exclaimed at the exact same time as Benni put his head in his hands. Thomas almost cracked a smile.

“Yep. And Xabi’s spent most of the holidays bonking some English hottie, so really, I have no hope in true love anymore.”

Miro rolled his eyes.

“Well… what the fuck are we gonna do?” Marco groaned.

Thomas shrugged.

“What classes have you guys got today?” Miro asked.

“Calculus, we’ve got a seating plan, he sits with Lukas. Then Spanish with you. And Xabi.”

“Shit okay. We’ll see how it goes.”

They were all worried. First period Calculus with a strict Mr Bierhoff meant that none of them could get any near Mesut. But the boy did not look himself, that much was certain to all of them.

Again, Mesut scarpered before any of them could get to him, and then things were only made worse in second period, when Thomas got a text from Miroslav.

_Mesut’s not in Spanish… - miro <3_

Thomas cursed under his breath, then positioned his phone under the table away from his teacher’s eyes. She probably wouldn’t care anyway, but still. This matter was serious, and if he got his phone confiscated, then that would be useless.

_Shit. He never skips class – tommy <3_

_And I mean NEVER. – tommy <3_

_I wouldn’t be surprised if he skips practice too then… xabi is evidently the reason he’s not here – miro <3_

_Speaking of Xabi, he’s having a miniature breakdown next to me. – miro <3_

_Fuck. Okay. I’ll go find Mesut, you deal with Xabi. – tommy <3_

_Okay xx – miro <3_

“Miss,” he raised one hand, and with the other, clutched his stomach. “I’m not feeling so good. Is it okay if I go for a little walk?”

It probably would not have worked with any of his other teachers, but his art teacher loved him. As he walked down the corridor he typed out a text to Mesut.

_Where are you? – thomas_

_In class? Why? – mes_

_Bullshit. Miro said you didn’t show. Where are you? – thomas_

_Courtyard – mes_

Thomas quickened his pace.

Mesut was sitting on a bench in the courtyard and Thomas hurriedly sat down next to him. He looked quite upset, and when Thomas noticed his hands were shaking, he knew just how badly this was effecting him.

“Hey, what’s up?” Thomas said, as gently as he could. “Why aren’t you in Spanish?”

“I got to class,” Mesut sniffed. “And I saw him for the first time since last term and I just c-couldn’t do it.” And with that he burst into tears.

Thomas didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was. He enveloped Mesut in a hug and tried to calm him down. “Shush, it’s okay.”

Eventually Mesut stopped crying and got a few more words out. “It h-h-hit me. When I saw him. I feel the same w-w-way and I don’t know wh-why it took me so long to r-r-realise.”

“Well then why didn’t you go talk to him?” Thomas exclaimed.

“I was sc-scared. I hurt h-him. I’m going to h-hurt him again.”

“You not being in Spanish is hurting him because it’s like you’re avoiding him. You need to just talk to him Mes. That’s the only way you two can sort this all out. None of us can do anything else.”

Mesut nodded slowly.

“You have to stop running away. You ran away at the end of last term and you’re still running.”

“What if h-he doesn’t f-f-feel the same w-way anymore?”

“Well we don’t know that. The only way you’re going to find out is if you go talk to him.”

“I just… I w-want him back as a friend. I want him to f-forgive me but I’m so scared he w-won’t. And then I f-feel the same way and I just f-f-fucked it all up! I’m so fucking st-stupid!”

“Hey,” Thomas said, rubbing his shoulder. “You didn’t fuck it up. You made a mistake but Xabi’s Xabi and you are Mesut and you’re Xabi and Mesut and you guys are best friends and it’s gonna be okay. You just need to talk.”

Mesut dragged a hand across his eyes. “Okay.”

“Get him back as a friend first, and then worry about the feelings part later. You can do it.”

Mesut nodded again.

“Do you want to go back to class now?”

“No.”

Thomas tried not to sigh. “Okay.”

“Can we… Shit, what class were you in?”

“Art,” Thomas waved a hand. “It’s all good.”

They sat in the courtyard until the bell rang to signify the end of class and the start of break.

“Come on,” Thomas got to his feet. “Let’s get some food, and see the others, they’re all worried about you too.”

Mesut blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For being an idiot, for making you miss class, for wasting your time with my stupid issues.”

“Your issues aren’t stupid, you’re not an idiot and do you really think I object to missing class?”

Mesut laughed shakily. “Thanks Thomas.” He got up as well, and they headed to the cafeteria.

…

“Xabier Alonso!” The yell came from Mats, and was loud enough that the entire cafeteria turned to look. Across the room, Benni put his head in his hands.

Xabi, who had just entered the cafeteria, was blushing, knowing what was about to come. He took a seat at their table, and everyone crowded around him.

“Tell us everything! Right now!” Mats demanded.

Xabi sighed, feigning innocence. “Everything about what?”

“Don’t you give us that shit,” Manuel exclaimed. “Who the fuck was that on your Instagram!”

“That’s ‘Stevie’!” Miro did a bad impression of Xabi’s similarly awful English accent, and just smirked when Xabi swatted a hand at him.

“Oooooh, Stevie!” Mats pounced. “And just what did you get up to with Stevie?”

The boys all waited eagerly for Xabi’s reply, but the Spaniard disappointed them with a roll of his eyes. “None of your business.”

Mats made the most dramatic sigh of his life, and plonked himself down next to Xabi. “Come on, Alonso, we’ve all told you our sex stories, it’s your turn.”

Xabi went crimson, and Miro raised his eyebrows. “So you guys did fuck?”

Xabi scowled at Mats, who looked triumphant, and didn’t grant Miro with an answer. He got to his feet, grabbed his bag, and stalked off.

“Sex must not have been that good then,” Manuel said matter-of-factly.

On the other side of the cafeteria, Mesut’s sudden change of mood did not go unnoticed. He pushed his food around his plate dejectedly and did not join in with the conversation.

They’d all heard the footballers teasing Xabi. They’d all seen the way Mesut had gone a bit pale, and looked down at his lap, blinking hard.

Thomas, who sat next to him, gave him a nudge. “You need to talk to him.”

“I know,” Mesut’s voice sounded annoyed.

“Hey don’t get angry with me.”

Mesut looked up quickly. “Sorry. I’m not. It’s more like I’m angry at myself.” He looked across the table at Benni and Toni, who were looking at him with sympathetic expressions.

“We’re all here for you, okay?” Benni said gently, and Toni nodded.

Unfortunately, Mesut did not get the chance to talk to Xabi for the rest of the day, and only saw him again at football practice. As he laced up his boots, he stole glimpses of the other boy. Xabi stuck close to Philipp and Miro, and looked how Mesut felt. That gave him some reassurance at least. They must have both been nervous.

Mesut didn’t know it, but Xabi too felt a little reassured at the fact that Mesut was even present. He had freaked out when Mesut had not turned up to Spanish, and it had taken a while for Miro to calm him down and convince him that Mesut was not avoiding him.

Somehow, neither caught the other looking.

Practice was a chilly affair, but afterwards, Philipp convinced everyone to come to Miro’s flat for drinks. He didn’t tell Miro this until all the boys were showered and changed. “Your place?” He asked, only a little guiltily.

Miro just rolled his eyes, and chuckled. “Yeah whatever.”

Philipp clapped him on the back, and they set off for Miro’s.

“This is kinda ruining the flat warming plans I had for Friday,” Xabi heard Thomas moan as the footballers piled inside Miro’s new apartment, eager to look around.

“It’s not even your flat,” Miro chuckled, absentmindedly tidying his friend’s discarded shoes into a neat, straight line.

“Practically is,” his boyfriend smirked back. Xabi followed the couple inside and shut the door behind him. He felt so awkward, knowing that Mesut was in the other room and that this was a social situation, meaning he couldn’t exactly just run away to the library. He must have looked a little panicked as Thomas rubbed his shoulder. “You good, Xabi?”

Xabi nodded hurriedly, knowing he wasn’t fooling either of them, and sidled past so he wouldn’t have to talk.

Per and Manuel had set up a beer pong table, much to Philipp’s disapproval. “Come on guys, I said a few drinks! We have school tomorrow!”

“Sorry Dad,” Manuel smirked, as Mats handed him a box of beer and he began to fill the cups.

“Don’t call me that,” Philipp bristled, but a ruffle of his hair from Per meant he was unable to be mad for long and Manu let out a cheer.

“You can go first Fipsy!” And so their disgruntled captain had to fight a smile as he teamed up with Per against Manu and Mats.

Xabi found a seat on a sofa with Jerome and Robert and tried to immerse himself in watching the beer pong so as not to get tempted to sneak a look at Mesut, who was chatting to Sami a little way away. He eventually got up to get a beer, heading to the deserted kitchen. He took a look around – Miro had done bloody well with this place – then opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. He was not at all prepared to turn around and see Mesut in front of him, a shy little smile on his face.

Some sort of reflex must have kicked in because the beer slipped from his grasp onto the floor and shattered. Xabi’s legs were splattered with foamy cold beer, but he couldn’t move. Something about Mesut’s expression, about the way he must have followed Xabi in here, meant he couldn’t move.

Mesut, on the other hand, had rushed to help and was soaking up the beer with a paper towel. “Are you okay?” He asked Xabi, concern evident in his voice and just the sound of it made Xabi’s heart melt. They were the first words Mesut had spoken to him since he’d told him to stay away.

Xabi finally got it together enough to get down and help Mesut. There was glass everywhere and Xabi had no shoes on so Mesut, bless his heart, ran down to get Xabi’s shoes so he could get out of the mess.

He managed to utter a shaky thank you and then just stood there and watched Mesut clean up his mess – he didn’t know what else to do.

“Here,” Mesut handed him a plastic bag full of broken glass, and with shaking hands Xabi took it and put it in the bin.

He was half wishing that one of their friends had heard the bottle smash and would come in to help them, because he had no idea what was going to happen next and he was ever so scared. Unfortunately, the music coming from the lounge was loud enough to drown out any ounce of noise from the kitchen, and Xabi had to accept that no one was going to get him out of this.

Mesut had got to his feet now, and Xabi knew there was no running away. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find a single word. Silence hung between them, almost painful. Xabi couldn’t read him, the expression on Mesut’s face didn’t give anything away.

Eventually, it was a simple “Hey” that Mesut uttered, and it made Xabi want to cry. Just how important Mesut was to him, how much he cared for the other boy, it all came coming back and Xabi tried not to think about how Mesut had treated him at the end of term, but he knew that they needed to clear the air.

Mesut was looking down at his hands, his cheeks flushed. It felt like Mesut thought he would not respond.

Xabi looked at him for a second. There was still a vengeful part of him, one tiny part that wanted to treat Mesut like he’d been treated, but he knew he could not physically make himself do that. He just wanted them to be friends again.

“Hey,” he eventually replied, and Mesut’s head shot up, their eyes meeting.

“I’m sorry,” they said at exactly the same time, the words fumbled, spilling out of their mouths as they both blushed crimson, time seeming to stop, the party long forgotten.

“You go first,” Xabi said hurriedly, trying to smile.

Mesut took a deep breath, and his eyes met Xabi’s. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you at the end of term. I’m sorry for ignoring you and for treating you like shit after what happened, and I’m sorry I was an awful friend. I… I hope you can forgive me for what I did.”

Xabi’s heart fluttered and ached at the same time. He nodded vigorously. “Only if you can forgive me too,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened. I took advantage of you and that was so wrong, and you should hate me for what I did but I really hope you don’t.”

“Of course I don’t hate you.”

“You have every right to.”

“But I don’t.” Mesut looked at the ground then back up at Xabi. “I could never hate you.”

Xabi almost cried right there and then. “I could never hate you either, Mes.”

Mesut, it seemed, was also close to crying. His eyes looked a bit misty, and his lip trembled. “I’m so sorry, Xabi. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Xabi nodded. “I’m so sorry too.”

There was a brief silence as they both looked away from each other.

“Friends again?” Xabi said eventually, and felt his entire body warm with happiness at the smile that broke out across Mesut’s face.

“Of course,” the younger boy beamed.

Tentatively, Xabi stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Mesut in a hug. Mesut hugged him back, and at that moment in the kitchen, it felt like it was only them on the entire planet. They held each other and revelled in the moment and neither wanted to let go.

When Mesut finally stepped back, he looked a little nervous again. “Can we talk about everything? Properly? If that’s okay with you?”

Xabi nodded. “This probably isn’t the best place for it. Will you be in Spanish tomorrow?”

Mesut blushed and nodded. “Sorry I didn’t come today.”

“It’s all good. I understand.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe we can grab lunch?”

Xabi smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.” It all felt a little awkward still, so different from how they’d been before, but Xabi was fine with that. This was the beginning of getting back to where they used to be. “We better get back to the party, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mesut replied, and together they headed back into the lounge, both feeling the best they’d felt in a long while.

…

It was close to midnight when people started to leave. After all, they did have school the next day. Most of the boys were pretty drunk, Philipp acting group dad as usual and finding them all rides to make sure they got home safe. Bastian had only had one beer. He hadn’t really felt like drinking, and instead had just sat on the couch most of the night, trying not to think about Lukas, but also trying to formulate a plan to approach the other boy.

When people started to leave, he knew that he didn’t have much time left. Lukas was on the other side of the room, talking to Manuel and Mats, and Bastian decided to just go for it.

He got to his feet, and stumbled his way across the room – not because he was drunk, but because it felt like his legs were turning to jelly.

Mats literally stopped talking in the middle of his sentence, Manu made a slight coughing sound, and Lukas visibly gulped.

“Can I talk to you?” Bastian asked quietly.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Mats said, and dragged Manuel away.

“I don’t want to talk,” Lukas said, when they were out of earshot. He walked away from Bastian, heading to the kitchen, and for a second, Bastian was rooted to the spot. Watching Lukas walk away again was not going to help anything so he shot after him. He closed the kitchen door behind him. “Don’t you fucking dare walk away from me,” he growled.

Lukas stopped and turned back around.

“We need to talk about what happened.” Lukas wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at a space past Bastian’s head, and when he did not meet Bastian’s gaze, the blonde spoke again. “Lukas – Luki – please.”

“What is there to talk about?” Lukas said quietly, his gaze falling to the ground.

“The fact that you kissed me and ran away, maybe?” Bastian exclaimed. “Or maybe the fact that even though we made up you’ve been acting like I don’t exist this entire day? Either of those would be just _great_ to talk about.” He tried to sound sarcastic, but it fell a bit short and he knew he was letting too much emotion into his voice.

Lukas looked at him for a few moments. “I don’t know what to say.”

Bastian ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “You _kissed_ me Lukas! Any thoughts on that?”

Lukas hesitated for a second. "It was heat of the moment Basti.”

Bastian threw his hands in the air. "Don't give me that shit Lukas, you wouldn't have kissed me if you didn't feel something, anything for me!"

"My best friend just declared he has feelings for me and you're saying I can't act by instinct?"

"Oh so it's instinct? So your instinct was to kiss me?"

"No I mean - Basti no - I just - you confused me okay?"

"So?"

"So – I just - you didn't give me much warning -"

Bastian was verging on hysterical. "You kissed me! Not the other way around!"

Lukas blushed at this. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled.  
"That's bullshit and we both know it Luki."

There was a pause, as Bastian tried to read Lukas, to understand his reaction to the accusations he was making.

"I'm not gay."

"Neither am I, dickwad. There's a thing called bisexuality."

Lukas shook his head. "No, I don't like boys. I like girls. I'm straight and I like girls."

"I can't believe you're saying this after you kissed me. God Lukas, you can't just kiss people and then say it was just heat of the moment. Especially not me. Especially not after what I said to you, you just can't!"

"I didn't mean to." 

"Fuck off with that bullshit. You kissed me Lukas, stop trying to deny it."

"I'm not -"

"Then what are you saying?"

"I don't know, I'm just confused,"

"And you think I'm not? I had to deal with three months of figuring out that I'm in love with my best friend"

Lukas stared at the ground, his cheeks crimson. 

Bastian didn't know what to else say. He'd said all he could and now it was up to Lukas, so he just shrugged. He was an open book, Lukas had the upper hand here. “I’m done,” he sighed. “Fuck, Luki, I can’t do this if you’re just going to deny everything.” He waited for a response, waited a good while, but Lukas just looked at him.

Bastian shook his head and walked away.

…

“Well that was a day and a half,” Thomas said, flopping onto Miro’s bed and making himself comfortable.

“Don’t you get mud on my sheets,” Miro snapped his fingers. “Off the bed and get that kit off.”

Thomas waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “So forward.”

Miro just rolled his eyes. “Off,” he repeated.

“It’s dry!” Thomas protested.

Miro gave him a look, and with a smirk on his face, Thomas finally obliged. “I’m having a shower,” Miro told him and headed into the bathroom.

“Want me to join you?” Thomas waggled his eyebrows.

“Get changed and get into bed. We have school in about 6 hours.”

“Party pooper,” Thomas poked his tongue out.

He did as he was told, however, and when Miro joined him, hair damp and tousled, Thomas greeted him with a soft kiss, that quickly escalated.

They’d been kissing for a few minutes before Thomas realised something wasn’t right. Miro was over-careful, treating Thomas like he might break, tentative touches and kisses not enough for the other boy. Then Thomas realised that they hadn’t had sex since the awful night at Miro’s and knew that this was definitely what was bothering his boyfriend.

“Miro,” Thomas said quietly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be so gentle.”

The older boy had been kissing his neck, but stilled and looked down at him. His eyes betrayed the fact he knew he’d been figured out.

“Honey,” Thomas murmured, reaching for his hand and gripping it tightly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Miro’s voice came out shaky, and it broke Thomas’ heart to know that this was still effecting him.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he replied, gentler this time.

“But I did before and every time we do anything I can’t stop thinking about what it would have been like for you and - ”

“Miro, please, honey, it’s okay. You’re not going to hurt me. You were drunk and not in a good place.”

“Don’t defend what I did,” Miro hung his head. “It’s inexcusable.” He climbed off Thomas and sat cross legged on the bed.

Thomas shuffled into a sitting position as well. He sighed. “It’s not inexcusable.”

“It is! I forced you to have non-consensual sex! That’s - ” He swallowed hard. “That’s rape. You didn’t want it and I hurt you and I still made you do it.”

“You didn’t make me do anything. You were drunk out of your mind, and I doubt you can even remember it.” It came out a little harsher than Thomas expected.

Miro looked absolutely devastated.

Thomas hurriedly took his hand again. “I don’t mean it like that I just mean that you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. It was a hard time for you and you’d had a lot of alcohol.”

There were tears in Miro’s eyes. “You don’t get it. That doesn’t excuse my actions. Please don’t defend what I did, that just makes it worse.”

“But I forgive you. It’s fine, baby, it’s okay.”

“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” Miro replied in a voice so small, so broken that it made Thomas’ heart hurt.

“Hey, come here,” Thomas tilted his head up and went to kiss him, but Miro shied away, moving off the bed and heading into the ensuite, leaving Thomas alone in the room.

He heard the door lock, and he didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t something he could convince Miro of, that much was certain. All he could do was try make it better for him. He crossed the room to the bathroom door, and knocked lightly. “Miro? Miro please. Please open the door.”

He could hear crying inside, and it made him upset too.

“Miro please,” he tried again, but there was no reply, only the horrible sound of Miro’s tears.

Thomas fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, frustration and anxiety coursing through him. Time passed and he just lay there, trying to block out the sounds of his boyfriend crying.

The bathroom door finally opened and Miro emerged, his face tear stricken, eyes puffy and red. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Thomas sat up quickly. “It’s okay.” He extended a hand. “Come here.”

Miro looked at his outstretched hand and shook his head. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice shaky, tears in his eyes, making no movement towards Thomas, and it broke Thomas’ heart.

“You deserve the world Miro,” he said. “I don’t know if I can give it to you but I know that you deserve happiness. I’ll try my best to give you that but you have to be willing to want it, and to accept that you deserve it.”

Tears were streaming thick and fast down Miro’s cheeks now, and it made Thomas’ eyes well up too.

“I told you. I’m in this for the long haul, but only if you are too,” Thomas looked at his boyfriend.

There was a moment before Miro spoke. “I don’t get it. I don’t get how you’re still here after everything that’s happened.”

“I’m here because I love you.”

Miro shook his head at this and it made Thomas feel sick. “Please, just let me say this,” Miro said, dragging a hand across his eyes and looking determinedly at Thomas. “You didn’t want to have sex with me that night but I made you and I know I was drunk but that still happened and I’m going to need time to come to terms with that. I just don’t understand why you’re so forgiving? You should be hurt, you should be angry, but you’re ready to just move on as if nothing happened and I don’t deserve that! I don’t deserve you!”

“I didn’t not want to have sex with you - ”

“Stop defending me!”

“I’m not!”

“But you are!”

“I wanted to give you what you wanted. And that was sex.”

“But you didn’t want it!” Miro was crying again. “Thomas what does that say about me – what does that say about us – if you’re doing everything that I wanted, even if you don’t want to!”

“I tried to help you because I love you!” Thomas exclaimed. “I love you and I know that if I was angry at you back then things would have been worse for you and I didn’t want that!”

“But it still happened. I still did it.” Miro crumbled, sobbing into his hands in a way Thomas hadn’t seen since Miro had found out about his father. He slumped against the wall, and slid down it, loud, ugly sobs rattling through his body.

Thomas approached him tentatively, dropping to Miro’s level.

His boyfriend looked up at him, one shaky hand covering his mouth, his eyes brimming with tears. “How c-can you love me when I’m like this?” Thomas barely heard the words they were so quiet, muffled by Miro’s hand, but he heard them and they broke his heart. He shut his eyes, feeling his own tears well up. Miro had broken down again, burying his face in his hands.

Thomas sat down next to him against the wall, and wrapped an arm around him. Tears trickled down his own cheeks as Miro leant into him, sobbing into his chest. Feeling numb, he rubbed Miro’s arm, trying in any way to comfort him.

They sat like that for a while. Miro soaked a sizeable patch of tears into his shirt, and Thomas had no words. He didn’t know what to say.

Miro’s sobs eventually quietened into little hiccups, and his tears subsided, and Thomas knew that sleep would be what was best – for the both of them.

“Come on, we should get some sleep,” he said quietly, and felt Miro’s head raise just a tiny bit, and nod. “Up you get,” he pulled Miro up gently, and ushered his boyfriend to the bed.

Miro fell like a doll onto the bed, and let Thomas do most of the work pulling the covers around him. He wouldn’t look at him, kept his eyes shut or his head turned to the side while Thomas found him an old shirt and tucked him in. He didn’t say anything until Thomas moved towards the door. “Where are you going?” His voice sounded strained, urgent, worried.

Thomas paused in the doorway, then turned back around to face his boyfriend, who now looked at him, sitting up in bed, the light from the moon illuminating his face. “Probably best if I just go home.”

“No, please stay. Please.”

Thomas couldn’t say no, so he compromised. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No,” it was a broken sound. “No, please Tom. Please stay with me.”

“I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” It was hard to turn away, but Thomas managed it. He grabbed a blanket from the end of Miro’s bed and headed through to the lounge, where the mess from the party was still scattered around. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Thomas curled up on the couch and tried to sleep, but his thoughts kept him awake.

He wanted Miro to see that it was okay, that they didn’t need to look back on the past, that the night at his was not his fault. But hearing what his boyfriend had just said made him reconsider. He hadn’t thought about what had happened that much, only in the times he had spoken to Philipp about it, and when Miro had apologised. But now he began to think again about what had happened. He knew his own intentions were good, but now he looked at it from Miro’s side, something he had not done before.

No, Miro had not been in a good place. Yes, he’d been drunk. But now Thomas realised that what had happened verged on rape. He remembered his feelings that night. What he’d told Miro had been his way of trying to make Miro feel better, but maybe accepting it and showing Miro that he was not trying to defend him – that would make his boyfriend feel better; that would let him move on.

Miro was right: Thomas didn’t want to have sex that night. He hadn’t consented to it, and even though Miro hadn’t overtly forced him into anything, it was non-consensual sex.

And that must have been killing Miro. He knew that maybe for a while he would have to give Miro time to heal, and if that meant not pressing him into anything sexual, then that was what Thomas had to do.

He also knew that him being on the couch was not helping anything. Miro needed him, and so he jumped off the sofa and headed back into the bedroom. He slid onto the bed next to his boyfriend and instinctively wrapped his arms around him. When Miro moved closer into his embrace, and rested his head against Thomas’ chest, Thomas knew that they could get through this. He loved this boy more than anything and he knew Miro loved him too, and they could get through this. They’d gotten through worse. They could do it.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll get the next one when i get round to it. hope this one was good enough.  
> sorry i take so long.  
> i love you all, thank you so much for reading. please let me know what you thought.  
> -c


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Miro finally talk, Marco reaches out to more people than he bargained for and Lukas skips school.

Thomas woke to the bleating of the alarm. His head was aching as he fumbled around to switch it off, and as he pulled the duvet upwards, desperate for another five minutes of sleep, everything from the previous night came flooding back to him. Sitting up, he reached over to the other side of the bed, expecting Miro to be there. He wasn’t.

Sighing, Thomas fell backwards, and stared hopelessly up at the ceiling.

_Fuck_.

He eventually managed to haul himself out of bed and padded through to the kitchen of Miro’s apartment. His boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, but there was a piece of paper lying on the counter, and it gave Thomas hope.

_By the time you read this I’ll probably already be at school, didn’t want to wake you up. I’m sorry if I said things that hurt you last night. I hope you know I love you so much. I know we need to talk this through properly. Meet me at lunch? xxx_

Thomas shut his eyes, and resisted a sigh. He knew he had to be patient with Miro but it was so easy to get frustrated. It felt like Miro was running away. After everything that had happened with Miro’s dad, it had felt like things were finally returning to normal. Now it just felt like there was another rift in their relationship, and Thomas hated it.

Maybe if he got to school soon he’d be able to catch him before lunch. At least Miro _wanted_ to talk.

Despite his rushed efforts getting ready for school, when he got to the cafeteria at least half an hour before first class, Miro was nowhere to be seen. He approached the footballers’ table, where only Xabi and Per were sitting. Both smiled at him.

“Hey Thomas,” Per said. “Good party last night.”

Thomas shrugged dismissively, and was sure it did not go unnoticed. “Have you seen Miro?”

“No, sorry.” Xabi shook his head.

“Okay,” Thomas said. “Thanks anyway.”

Per and Xabi shared a look. “Is everything okay?” Xabi asked tentatively.

“Yeah. Can you text me if you see him?”

“Of course,” Xabi said and Per nodded. Thomas knew he hadn’t been very convincing, but that was really the least of his concerns. He needed to find Miro.

He checked all the usual places: the fields, the senior common room, Miro’s class, even the cafeteria again, but his boyfriend was nowhere to be found. His frustration was getting the better of him and he turned up to his first class feeling helpless, sad, even a little angry. He fell into the seat next to Benni, dumping his History books on the table. Benni, who was already seated, looked at him in concern.

“You all good?”

“No. But it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Benni looked a bit shocked. Thomas knew he had reason to. “Thomas - ”

But before his friend could say anything, the door swung open and their teacher strode in. Benni fell quiet and began scribbling away on a spare piece of paper.

Thomas looked to the front of class, and tried to engage himself in the lesson, but Benni was busy writing him an overly long message on his scrap paper. When he eventually slid it over to Thomas, Benni looked even more concerned.

Refraining from sighing, Thomas read the note.

_What’s up? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, and I would understand, but it’s not like you to be like this and I’m worried. I’m always here to talk. Is everything okay with Miro? Or is it something else? (Yes I’m too goody-two-shoes to whisper in class, to be honest, passing notes is just as bad) Anyway, hope you’re okay._

Despite its lengthiness, Thomas felt a surge of appreciation for Benni. He grabbed a pen and wrote back.

_Just stressed. Issues with Miro, should be sorted at lunch. Thanks for passing notes for my sake._

Benni read his response, and shot a small smile at him. Thomas managed to feel a little better.

Across the room, the footballers had their own concerns.

“Where’s Poldi?” Manuel hissed at Mats.

Mats frowned and scanned the classroom for their friend. His eyes fell on Benni, who was sitting with Thomas and laughing about something. He looked happy, and it made Mats’ heart flutter at the smile on his boyfriend’s face.

“Oi,” Manuel jabbed him in the ribs. “Stop eyefucking Höwedes and tell me I’m _not_ going crazy and that Lukas really isn’t here.”

Mats rolled his eyes but obliged, and looked around the room. Manuel was right – Lukas was nowhere to be seen. Bastian was staring at the empty seat in front, where Lukas usually sat in their class. Mats glanced at the clock: it was nearly twenty minutes into the lesson.

“Shit,” he swore under his breath. He noticed Jogi look up from his desk and raise his eyebrows at him, and Mats hurriedly looked away, pretending to be immersed in his work. “This isn’t good,” he whispered.

“Have we even worked out the situation yet?”

Mats nodded. “I had a think about it. After what happened last night, I reckon Bastian likes Lukas. But then, that much has always been clear. Especially this year.”

“Okay, but does Lukas feel the same?”

“No. I don’t know if he even knows. But the way Basti looks at him, I saw it last night in particular. They aren’t just fighting because of all the shit that went down between them with football, it’s something more.”

“He told Lukas?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well they’re evidently still fighting. And Lukas isn’t here. Which is a bad sign.”

“Exactly.”

…

Mesut stared at the door. He’d purposely arrived at school early in order to mentally prepare himself, and he was now standing outside his Spanish classroom. He hadn’t spoken to Xabi since their interaction at the party, but now he was here, about to spend an hour with the boy he’d ignored for two whole weeks.

He remembered how it used to be. Spanish had always been one of his favourite classes. Most of the time it had been him, Xabi and Miro, talking about Thomas, or football, their friends, anything really. The class had been a security blanket of sorts. Now, however, it was anything but that. He was struggling with the fact that conversation with Xabi didn’t come easily anymore. He had to make a conscious effort where before it had been so seamless, effortless. So much more thought had to go into every response, question, look, gesture.

He stared at the door some more.

Really, he knew he was overthinking. He always did. But it was scary, to be suddenly uncomfortable around someone with whom he had clicked so easily with. Uncertainty gripped him, made his palms sweaty, his jaw clench so hard his head hurt.

The bell rang. Mesut reached for the door handle.

He could do this. It was just Xabi. He could do this.

There was no one in the classroom. He took his seat, got his book out and waited. He’d never felt more nervous as he watched his classmates file into the room, talking and laughing. Xabi walked in with Miro, the Pole talking to him about something, but it was clear he wasn’t really listening. Mesut felt his throat tighten, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering. He saw the way Xabi ignored Miro completely and glanced quickly around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Mesut. Their eyes met, and Mesut thought he saw a look of relief cross the other boy’s face, if only for a second.

Tentatively, Mesut managed a smile. Xabi smiled back, and Mesut felt himself crumble a little inside.

“Hi,” he heard Xabi utter as the seniors sat down, a little mumble, loud enough for Mesut to hear, but soft enough for him to feel its meaning. And Mesut did, he felt it and it eased him and hurt him at the same time.

He was still terrified that they would not be able to work everything out, that Mesut’s fuck up might be too much for them to come back from. Their friendship was strong in Mesut’s mind, but he also knew the magnitude of the situation, and the fact that he was ever so lucky to be getting a second chance.

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Xabi smiled at him again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Mesut couldn’t stop himself blushing, and he saw Xabi’s cheeks colour a little too. He went to say something but the teacher began the lesson.

The following hour went more smoothly than Mesut could have ever hoped. There was no talk of personal things, but their Spanish flowed just how it used to and it reassured them both. It felt so good, to have regained this tiny piece of normalcy. Mesut tried not to stare at him too much, but most of the time he was wondering how on earth he hadn’t realised his feelings for Xabi sooner.

The boy was beautiful. Not just in looks, there was something else about Xabi that Mesut was finally seeing, and seeing it like it was the first time. Xabi had a soul that shined. He cared, so passionately and so loyally for his friends, his family, he put everything he had into things he cared about. And the fact that Mesut was one of those things, that was more than Mesut could ever ask for. The fact that this beautiful human being had confessed his love for Mesut… he could not comprehend the fact that he had rejected him in such a way. Xabi was delicate, not fragile, but something that should be protected at all costs from any sort of pain, and Mesut had broken his heart.

He’d had no reason to do that. He’d been scared, cowardly, and he’d treated Xabi awfully. After their meeting in Miro’s kitchen, he’d gone home and thought a lot about how to fix things, wondering what Xabi would say and distantly realising that Xabi would not be the one apologising: he would be. Because it was his fault, all of this mess. Xabi was happy, that much was clear, despite Mesut’s attempts to hurt him, and even with the guy in England now a part of Xabi’s life, he had to be grateful for even the chance to be Xabi’s friend again. It was his fault he’d realised too late.

All he wanted was for Xabi to happy. And if Gerrard made him happy, then Mesut would not get in the way. He promised himself, he would not screw it up again for Xabi, who deserved the world. This beautiful soul deserved everything, and even if Mesut could not be the one to provide it, he just wanted him to be happy.

Xabi looked up from his workbook. He caught Mesut looking at him, and blinked quickly, bashful, looking away. Mesut smiled, and Xabi looked back in time to see it, and he smiled too.

…

At break, Lukas’ absence was noticed. “Where’s Poldi?” Sami asked the group. Everyone was silent. Mats saw Philipp steal a glance at Bastian, who rolled his eyes.

“He’s not here,” the blond spat.

Everyone turned to look at him. Philipp put a hand on his shoulder. “Basti…”

Anything Philipp was going to say next was interrupted by Thomas’ arrival. Bastian shrugged off Philipp’s hand, and stared at his food, looking a little hopeless. The rest of the group quickly resumed their own conversations and Philipp turned to Thomas. “Hey Tom. What’s up?”

“I can’t find Miro,” Thomas sounded panicked, and Philipp refrained from sighing. First Lukas, now Miro – who else was going to act up before the end of the day?

“What do you mean?”

“We were supposed to meet. At lunch. And he’s not here.” Thomas took a strangled breath, and Philipp was suddenly very concerned. He got to his feet, and ushered Thomas towards an empty table.

“Hey, hey, calm down. You’re panicking, calm down. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Thomas screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Thomas…”

The younger boy dragged a hand across his eyes, then looked up at Philipp. “Have you seen Miro at all today? Just tell me yes or no.”

Philipp hesitated and looked at the other boy. He’d never seen Thomas like this. Something must be badly wrong, because Thomas looked absolutely distraught. “No. I haven’t.”

“Fuck,” Thomas cursed, and there were tears in his eyes now. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stood up, the chair scraping backwards, and hurried away.

“Thomas!” Philipp yelled after him, but the other boy didn’t turn around.

…

Marco couldn’t believe Robert’s nerve. Three times he’d caught him staring in one class alone, once he’d even tipped a wink at Marco. When Mario joined them at break and greeted Marco with a peck on the lips and a smile, all Marco felt was guilt.

Guilt, because he was lying to Mario’s face.

Guilt, because he didn’t have the courage to accept the consequences of his actions.

Guilt, because he still felt something every time Robert looked at him.

It gnawed at him. Every class he spent deliberating what to do, his schoolwork forgotten, his mind restless. Trying not to look at the Polish footballer.

Though he’d vowed not to tell anyone about what happened, and despite the fact that ever since Erik’s confession, he’d hardly spoken to Toni, it was the he who Marco ended up spilling everything to.

He’d always known that Toni noticed things. And the fact that they sat together in most classes did not help, because after Robert had looked over at him for the fourth time in an hour, Toni turned to Marco and asked bluntly: “Why is Lewandowski staring at you?”

Marco felt himself go crimson. “Um…” he stuttered. “I have no idea. That’s strange. Why would he do that?” He stumbled over the words far too much to be convincing and he felt Toni’s eyes remain on him.

“Reus… What the fuck…”

Marco just shook his head.

“Oh my god… Marco. What the fuck - what the fuck did you do?”

In that moment, Marco wanted nothing more than to crawl into a whole and die a slow painful death. That was what he deserved. He looked to the front of the class, but Toni’s gaze felt like it was burning him. He shook his head again.

“You didn’t.” Toni spoke in a hushed whisper. “You can’t have.” And then: “Tell me everything.”

“Not now,” Marco hissed.

“You’re telling me. After this class. You’re telling me everything.”

“Fine.”

When the class finished and the bell rang for lunch, Toni dragged Marco down to the music department, opened a practice room and shoved Marco inside.

“Sit,” Toni ordered and Marco did as he was told. Toni stood by the paino, the expression on his face one of disbelief. “Explain.”

“I fucked up so bad,” Marco said.

“You guys fucked?” Toni asked bluntly. “How does that even happen?” He added as an afterthought.

Marco shook his head.

“What then?”

Closing his eyes, Marco took a deep breath. “I went to a pub. I was feeling shit about fighting with Mario and I just wanted a drink and… he was there. We started talking and drinking and then we danced and I had had way too much, and then we taxied back to his and I woke up naked in his bed the next morning.”

“So - ”

“Then we hooked up again,” Marco winced just saying it. He felt so ashamed. Toni looked at him incredulously. “Just blowjobs, we haven’t fucked. And I went home and I just felt so awful, I knew I needed to stop it. But…”

“But what…”

Marco put his head in his hands. He felt his eyes well up, and blinked them away, pushing with his hands. “I’m such a bad person, Toni,” he mumbled.

He felt his friend sit down next to him and a hand rubbed his shoulder gently. “Mar… What else happened?”

“I… I met him again. At the bar. And I was going to tell him that we needed to end things. Well, I did. Eventually. But not before…” He trailed off. “Fuck Toni.”

“Not before what?”

“We hooked up again in the bathroom. And then I ran away.”

Toni was silent for a few moments, rubbing Marco’s shoulder. Then he wrapped his arm around the other boy. “Is that all of it?” He asked.

“Yeah. I hadn’t seen him again until today and I texted him to ask him to stop - ”

“You have his _number_?” Toni looked at him like he was crazy.

“I should have deleted it but - ”

“You need to delete it and any other correspondence you’ve had with him right now. Or Mario will find out.”

Marco screwed up his face. “Fuck. I cheated on him. Not even once. Three fucking times.”

Toni looked thoughtful, his eyebrows furrowed. “You and Mario were fighting at the end of last term. And I know that he was away. But you guys are fine now. Which means that when he came back you guys made up, right?”

Marco nodded hopelessly.

“And was this… was this before or after Robert?” Toni asked cautiously.

“After.”

“So you didn’t tell him.”

Marco shook his head.

“Oh Marco… What have you done?”

…

Miro stepped out of the shower. He knew Thomas would be at lunch by now, waiting for him. He also knew it was stupid of him to have left school. This was just making things so much worse, and after the previous night, Miro just wanted to stop hurting his boyfriend.

He changed, ignoring the fact that the clock said it was 12:30 and therefore half an hour into lunch. There was nothing he could do about it now. It was silly really; he would have to talk to Thomas at some point about everything – they hadn’t exactly had any closure in their talk the previous night. It just scared him to death that this might be the tipping point for Thomas. He still wondered every day why Thomas was still around when Miro was such a fuck up. He remembered how grateful he was, how lucky he was, every time Thomas smiled at him or hugged or kissed him, and marvelled at the fact that somehow all of Miro’s bullshit had not been enough to deter him.

Miro loved Thomas. He loved him a lot and he was terrified of losing him, yet everything he did seemed to be another mistake and one day it would be too much for Thomas, Miro knew it. Thomas said he loved him back, but Miro could not help but question it. He knew he was wrong to. Thomas was so kind, so caring, that he would never do that to anyone, but after everything that had happened Miro was still wary. He didn’t understand how Thomas could love him when he himself could not find many things to love about his personality or the things he did or the things that had happened. A memory from his last night at the Müllers’ popped into his mind. It pained him so much to see Thomas worry about him.

The ‘ding’ of his phone wrenched him from his thoughts. His phone sat on the edge of the bathroom sink, and he reached for it gingerly, dreading what he might find.

There was a series of messages and missed calls.

_Where are you? X – tom <3_

_12:10 - You missed a call from tom <3_

_Miro? – tom <3_

_Pick up my calls, please. – tom <3_

_12:11 - You missed a call from tom <3_

_please pick up – tom <3_

_miro please just tell me you’re okay – tom <3_

_12:19 – You missed a call from tom <3_

_please, miro… - tom <3_

_I’m sorry – tom <3_

He knew he was a coward for not wanting to talk, but at the same time he had no idea how to face Thomas. That “I’m sorry” text shook him to the bone. Had he really made it out that any of this was in any way Thomas’ fault?

Miro felt the tears well up in his eyes. It was just another mistake to add to the long list of things he’d done that made him undeserving of Thomas. “Fuck,” he cursed, blinking back his tears.

_I’m at home – miro <3_

He didn’t get a reply.

…

_Hi it's Thomas. You've missed me and you'll probably still miss me if you leave a message. Who even checks their voicemail these days? Try Miro. Bye!_

Mesut sighed. Thomas wasn’t picking up his phone. He needed to talk to someone about Xabi but Thomas wasn't picking up. Furthermore, none of his friends seemed to be around, despite it being lunchtime. He was the only one at his lunch table.

He stole a look at the footballers table, considering going over there and just trying to talk to Xabi. Their Spanish class had been good, because there was no awkwardness between them and he had felt comfortable and happy, but still, the fact that they had not properly cleared the air and spoken about everything, haunted him.

“Mesut,” a voice from behind startled him. It was Benni, with Mats in tow.

“Oh, hey.” Mesut said. He supposed apart from Thomas, Benni was the one he'd feel most comfortable talking to. There was just the issue of Mats.

They sat down opposite Mesut at the table. “Are you all good?” Benni asked.

“Yeah, just trying to find Thomas.”

“I don't know if you'll find him,” Mats said. “I think Philipp said he left school earlier or something? He came to our table at break looking pretty fucked up.”

Mesut frowned. “What?”

“I didn’t hear what they talked about, sorry.”

“I think it was stuff about Miro. He’s not here either.” Benni said. “Anyway, what were you looking for Thomas for?”

Mesut could not stop himself blushing a little bit. He shook his head. “Just needed to talk to him about something.” He saw Mats and Benni share a look. “It’s nothing,” he said hurriedly, but he knew he wasn’t fooling either of them. Benni made a little motion with his head and Mats abruptly got to his feet and slung his bag on his shoulder.

“I should go to my class,” he said, a blatant lie, as Mesut knew they still had plenty of time left until lunch ended. Mats bent down and pressed a kiss to Benni’s forehead. “See you in Calc.”

“See you later.” They watched him leave. It warmed Mesut’s heart, the way Benni looked at Mats. He grinned, and when Benni finally looked back to Mesut to see him smiling at him, he made a face. “What?”

“You two are so cute.”

“I know.”

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would last.”

“Fuck you!” Benni was outraged.

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Mesut protested, laughing. “That came out wrong! I meant I thought you would get sick of him. But he’s proven that he’s a bloody good guy, and he deserves to be your boyfriend.”

Benni laughed. “Thanks Mes. Sometimes I still wonder if it’s all just some sick dream I’m having. But I think I’m finally getting accustomed to the fact we’re together.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, now that Mats is gone - ”

“You didn’t have to send him away.”

Benni raised his eyebrows. “You wanted to tell him all your problems?” He laughed. “I mean he’s great with mine but I think that’s as far as it goes with him.”

Mesut rolled his eyes.

“Now that he’s gone, how are things with Xabi? I presume that’s what you were calling Tom for?”

Mesut nodded. “I saw him in Spanish today.”

“How did it go?”

“It was… good.”

“That’s good. You like him, right? Thomas didn’t really explain, but I gathered that much.”

“Yeah,” Mesut said softly. “I like him. And I screwed up any chance we had at a relationship before I realised it.”

“Hey, don’t say that.”

“You heard them talking about his boyfriend yesterday, you saw how he acted. I lost my chance.”

Benni sighed. “I mean… it’s not ideal that two weeks after what happened with you he got into a relationship with someone else.”

“Nah, it’s not fucking ideal,” Mesut tried to laugh but it came out a bit hollow.

“Have you told him about your feelings?”

“No. Why would I, when it doesn’t matter anymore?”

“It still matters, Mes.”

Mesut shrugged.

“Anyway, what’s so special about this other guy?” Benni laughed.

“He’s in Xabi’s profile picture. Go look, and you’ll probably see why.”

Benni got out his phone and was silent for a while as he navigated to Xabi’s page.

“This one?” He showed Mesut the picture Xabi had put up of the two of them in front of the water. Xabi’s arm was around the boy, who kissed him on the cheek. Just looking at it made his heart hurt.

“Yep, that’s him,” Mesut said sullenly.

“Steven Gerrard.” Benni read the name out. “I mean… he’s hot. But I bet he’s no Mesut Özil.”

“Oh shut up,” Mesut blushed.

“What has Xabi said about him?”

“Nothing. We haven’t talked about him.”

Benni frowned. “Why not?”

“We… we haven’t really talked about anything since the party. And even then we didn’t actually talk about stuff, we just… like made up.”

“Well… then you need to talk to him, right?”

Before Mesut could reply, he was interrupted by none other than Xabi Alonso, hovering at Benni’s shoulder. Mesut stared at him, and Benni swung round.

“Oh hey! We were just talking about you.”

Mesut kicked him under the table. Benni didn’t even flinch, just smirked. Xabi looked a bit confused. “Oh… Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll leave you guys to it.” Benni clambered to his feet in a manner not unlike his boyfriend earlier. “I’ll _talk to you later_ Mes,” he said, not subtle at all. Mesut repressed a groan.

“What… what was all that about?” Xabi asked, very confused as he watched Benni walk away at much higher speed than necessary.

“Nothing,” Mesut waved a hand, trying to seem nonchalant and failing miserably.

“Okay…” Xabi didn’t seem convinced. He looked back at Mesut and smiled. Mesut felt his heart surge, and smiled back at him. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee after school? And we could maybe do some study, and… um… like maybe talk about things?”

“Yeah, that would be cool,” Mesut said, trying to sound confident.

Xabi visibly relaxed. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you later, then.”

Mesut nodded, smiling. “See you later.”

…

The sound of the doorbell ringing made Miro jump out of his skin. That was not a sound he wanted to hear. He shut his eyes quickly, and willed it to be just a figment of his imagination. It rang again. And again. It had to be Thomas. It couldn’t have been anyone else, no one knew he was home. He dragged his feet across the ground, taking a lifetime to get to the door, not wanting to face the consequences that he knew were waiting for him on the other side.

Slowly, Miro edged the door open, and found his boyfriend standing on the front step. Thomas was still in school uniform, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his tie loose and hanging lopsided as usual. His cheeks were red, maybe from the cold but it looked as if he’d just run somewhere. Miro’s heart ached at the thought that Thomas had run from school to get to his.

“Can I come in?” Thomas asked. His voice was hard, there was no usual crooked grin, and his shoulders slumped. Miro was beyond terrified.

Miro nodded, not looking at him. His boyfriend walked past him into the flat, and Miro pushed the door closed, trying to calm himself down.

His boyfriend stood in the middle of the lounge. "I'm sorry," Thomas began, "for anything I have done to hurt you."

Miro shook his head, his heart aching at Thomas' words.

At this, Thomas looked frustrated. "What does that mean Miro? I didn't hurt you? You don't accept my apology? Please. Talk to me, Miro! Talk to me and tell me what you’re feeling, because I have no idea where I stand with you!”

Miro hung his head, then looked back up at Thomas, finally meeting his boyfriend's gaze. "I meant you don't need to be sorry," he said in a hushed voice. "You've done nothing wrong."

"Well I evidently have, or you would have turned up to meet me at lunch."

Miro shut his eyes, guilt slowly consuming him. "I'm sorry I didn't come."

"Why? Why didn't you come? You said we need to talk about this and then you don't show up!" Miro thought he could hear the slightest hint of anger in Thomas' voice and it was terrifying him. Tears brimmed in his eyes. It hurt so much, to see his boyfriend so frustrated, and even worse when _he_ was the cause of their problems. He wanted to rewind, to go back and change what he'd done because it had thrown such a massive spanner in the works and he'd hurt Thomas in more ways than one.

Thomas was the most important person in his life and he'd gone and fucked it up. He wanted to talk, knew Thomas was right that they needed to, but it scared him to death. It scared him that he might lose everything, might lose Thomas.

"I'm sorry." It was all he could muster and he knew repeating it was just making things worse.

He looked at Thomas, and felt an ache in his chest at the look of pain, frustration, and even betrayal in his boyfriend’s eyes. Quickly, he averted his gaze but a tear escaped his eyes and trickled down his cheek hopelessly.

Thomas took a step towards him. "Please can we talk about this Miro. We can fix this, if you just tell me what you're feeling." His voice was soft, restraining something Miro didn't want to think about. He sounded almost desperate. "We need to talk about this. We need to fix this."

"I know," he snapped, and instantly regretted it as Thomas flinched away. "I'm sorry," he said quickly and more tears fell down his cheeks. He drew in a breath but it was stuttering and turned into a sob.

He wasn't expecting it, but Thomas enveloped him in a hug, just holding him there. Miro leaned into him, trying not to cry, and when Thomas dropped a delicate kiss onto his temple he instinctively tightened his grip around the other boy's waist, like he was hanging on for dear life.

"I love you so much Miro," Thomas whispered. "I just want everything to be okay for you. That's all I want."

Miro hugged him even tighter.

It was silent between them for a little while, Miro swallowing his sobs as they stood in each other's embrace in the middle of the lounge. Miro could feel Thomas' chest rising and falling a little with every breath he took, and it calmed him, settled him enough to get some words other than "I’m sorry" out.

"Thomas," he began and he felt his boyfriend stiffen ever so slightly. Thomas let him go, and they stood, looking at each other. "I know... I know you probably think..." he trailed off. "Can we sit down?" He could hear his voice trembling.

"Of course," Thomas immediately lead him to the couch and Miro sank down. "Go on," the other boy encouraged, reaching for his hand. Miro let him take it, and almost smiled at the little squeeze Thomas gave it.

"You probably think that what happened is probably not a big deal -"

"I don't think that." Thomas said fiercely.

"Well I mean that you think that if you just tell me that you forgive me that it's gonna fix everything and it helps, of course it helps, that you don't hate me for what I did," he was stammering and it gave Thomas another opportunity to interrupt him.

"I could never hate you Miro."

At this, Miro ducked his head, but changed the subject back to what he was trying to say. "I just... Even though you forgive me it doesn't forgive what I did, nor does it allow me to forgive myself. What I did... What I did was so shitty, so awful. I fucked up. And I have to live with that."

Thomas was silent for a moment, then squeezed Miro's hand again. "I know," he said quietly. "I understand."

"You do?" Miro was surprised.

"After last night, when I was lying on the couch, I just... I realised that I wasn't thinking about what you felt. I was too occupied with telling you that I forgive you but I didn't realise that that wasn't helping. And I was going to tell you that at lunch today and then..." he sighed, then laughed a little. Miro fell a little more in love with him. "And then you didn't show up and I thought I'd done something wrong or said something stupid and that _you_ hated _me_."

Miro shook his head tearily. "I could never hate you," he repeated Thomas' words from earlier and it brought a smile to his boyfriend's face and the sheer beauty of it made Miro smile too.

"I love you Miro. I'll wait however long it takes for us to get past this, and I'm going to be here for you always, okay?"

Miro nodded.

"Can I kiss you?" Thomas asked, so sincere and genuine that if made Miro's heart ache with love for him. He nodded again, and welcomed the kiss Thomas gave him, quick but carrying more meaning than Thomas probably realised it did. Thomas brought him into his arms again and Miro hugged him back for all he was worth.

Thomas made him feel so secure, even in the moments where everything else was falling apart. He was home, familiar and always there for him, and Miro had no words to describe how grateful he was. He just hugged Thomas tighter.

When they eventually let each other go, Thomas reached for his hands again. "Now," he said, soft but strong. "Tell me everything you've been feeling since the night at yours."

Miro nodded and took a deep breath.

...

They met in their usual coffee spot, around the corner from Mesut’ house, though they did not walk there from school together. Mesut already had a table by the time Xabi walked in, windswept and shivering from the cold.

“It’s freezing,” he said as he sat down, smiling at Mesut, placing his satchel on the ground and removing his scarf from around his neck. “Are you not cold?”

Mesut shrugged a little, chuckling. “I ordered your usual for you.” 

“Thank you.”                 

Their drinks came, and for a minute they were both silent, Xabi tipping two sugars into his coffee, Mesut stirring his own rather unnecessarily.

“So,” Xabi started. It was all a little awkward, but he managed to get the words out. “Should I go first?”

“Okay." 

“I fucked you over at the end of last term. Springing that on you like that, it was stupid and I got you drunk when I should have just spoken to you. I… I took advantage of you and I don’t know why I did that because that’s not like me – I don’t think – but I was so scared of telling you that I thought that was the only way. The only way I could…” He trailed off and got a little quieter when he carried on. “The only way I got enough courage to do what I did was through alcohol and that was so stupid. I’m sorry for how I acted.”

Mesut nodded, and waited for Xabi to say more, but then realised there was probably nothing more for him to say. It was Mesut’s turn to apologise for all the fucked up things he’d done. But before he could say anything Xabi spoke again.

“What were you feeling… that night? And after?”

Mesut took a deep breath. “I was a mess,” he confessed. “I was angry at you, I was confused, I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t reply to all your texts and messages because I didn’t know what to say. And then at school I treated you so awfully, because I was still so confused about what happened because I didn’t realise you feel – felt – that way.” _God damnit Mesut, he doesn’t feel that way for you anymore._ “I overreacted though. I took it way too far.” 

“I thought you hated me,” Xabi said quietly.

Mesut hung his head. “I’m so fucking sorry, Xabi,” he mumbled. “I almost ruined our friendship because I was being selfish and I tried to get back at you, to make you feel like shit after what I thought you did was so bad. But what I did was a thousand times worse. I met Sara because I wanted you to feel bad. And that was… that was awful Xabi. Why did I do that to you? What did you do to deserve that?” Suddenly he felt the tears brim in his eyes and he willed himself not to cry. “You didn’t deserve that. And I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything that happened because it’s all my fault. Yes, you maybe got me a bit drunk, but I took it way too far, and after everything you’ve done for me, I fucked you over, not the other way around and I hope you can forgive me.”

Xabi was silent for a moment, and Mesut didn’t dare look at him until he mustered up the courage to do so. “I forgive you,” he said, sincere as ever and it gave Mesut confidence. They were quiet for a little while, both thinking over what had just been said, stirring their coffees to fill the silence.

“Xabi…” Mesut began after a time, then trailed off. “I... I hope you know I’m so grateful you’re giving me a second chance.”

Xabi shrugged bashfully. “I couldn’t not give you a second chance,” he chuckled lowly. “You know me.”

Mesut smiled. “Well I’m eternally grateful for it, I hope you know that."

Xabi nodded. He stirred his coffee, took a sip, then looked back at Mesut. “Your girlfriend…" 

“We broke up,” Mesut said abruptly. He remembered Miro and Thomas’ advice, to make things clear. He wanted Xabi to know that he was not seeing some random girl, that all Mesut’s feelings were now for him and him alone.

“Oh?” Xabi was visibly surprised. “Okay?”

_Just do it. Tell him._

“I… I realised…”

It was at that moment that Xabi’s phone buzzed on the table, and lit up with a Facebook notification. Mesut couldn’t help but read who it was from.

_Steven Gerrard:_

_Hey, how are you? Missing you every day, we went to…_

The rest of the message was cut off and hurriedly Mesut averted his eyes. He’d read enough.

Xabi was blushing and had grabbed his phone off the table, putting it in his coat pocket. “Sorry,” he said bashfully, not meeting Mesut’s eyes. “What were you saying?”

Suddenly, all of his confidence was gone. Xabi had a boyfriend now, and it was no use complicating things by telling him his feelings.

“I just… I realised we’re best friends, you know? And I'll never ruin that again.” He stammered and stuttered, hardly convincing. 

But Mesut thought he saw a look of disappointment flash across Xabi’s face and it confused him so much. He must have been imagining it though, as the next second Xabi smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Trying to ignore the fact he was crumbling inside, Mesut smiled back at him.

 …

Lukas did not turn up to school for the rest of the week. Bastian swung between his moods at a frightening pace; one minute angry, the next sad, the next wondering if this might be a good thing, finally feeling like he just wanted to give up.

They had a game on Friday afternoon after school, and he was sure Lukas would not miss it, but he got to school that day and his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Philipp just shook his head sadly when Bastian got to their table at lunch.

“I texted him. He says he’s sick, which is obviously a lie.”

Bastian shook his head. “Fuck. He really wants to avoid me this badly, does he?”

Philipp reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll talk to you when it’s the right time.”

Bastian had told Philipp about the kiss, the only one of his friends that he had told, in fact. Philipp insisted that this was better than Lukas being in the dark, and he was evidently thinking about things if he was not coming to school, but Bastian doubted it. He just felt more lost than ever, felt like Lukas hated him.

He wanted to text him, to at least form some sort of communication between the two of them, but every time he typed out a message he deleted it, knowing it was probably not a good idea.

But he missed Lukas, missed him terribly, and it made his heart ache that Lukas had skipped nearly an entire week of school, and possibly their football game later that afternoon, all because of him.

They’d just finished their last class of the day, which meant the game was in about an hour and a half. Lukas still hadn’t shown up. They walked in the direction of the fields, excitement flowing, but Bastian was unable to feel it.

“Hey,” Philipp fell into step beside him. “Cheer up.”

Bastian sent him a withering look.

“You’re turning into me,” the captain laughed, giving Bastian a friendly shove, and making him smile a little. “He might still turn up.”

“We both know he won’t,” Bastian replied.

…

Benni, Toni and Mesut went down to the music department to practise for a little while after school and kill time before the game. After about half an hour, Marco, Mario and Christoph showed up.

“God you guys are so good,” Mario said, announcing the other boys’ presence in the room as the piece finished with a flourish.

“Thanks,” Mesut grinned. He had started to pack up his cello. “I suppose we should be heading down now?” He asked Mario and Christoph, who both nodded. 

“I think I might go down to the pitch now,” Benni said, standing up from the piano. He was wearing Mats’ Weisburg Sport beanie on his head – it made him look rather ridiculous, in Toni’s opinion, but Benni’s loyalty to his boyfriend was adorable. “Do you guys wanna come?”

Toni nodded. He glanced at Marco questioningly.

"I - uh…”

“You’re coming to the game right?” Mario asked, unaware of Marco's true misgivings.

Fortunately, Mario did not see the look Toni gave Marco. It did not, however, go unnoticed by Benni.

Marco’s cheeks were flushed and he said hurriedly “Of course. I'll be there.”

As Mario grinned and pecked his boyfriend on the cheek, Benni caught Toni's eye and sent him a very confused look. Toni looked away.

This whole problem was going to be a disaster.

They made their way down to the fields together and Mesut, Mario and Christoph went off to get ready while the rest of the boys found seats in the front row of the bleachers. They were slowly filling up as the Weisburg boys finished class and made their way down to the pitch. The opposition had just arrived and were warming up, as were a few of the home team.

Benni was preoccupied with his phone – probably texting Mats – so Toni turned to Marco and gave him a look.

Marco blinked at him. “What?”

“Close shave earlier.”

“He won’t find out. It’s fine.”

“Whatever you say…”

Benni caught interest at this moment. “Who won’t find out?”

Before Marco could retort back, a group of Weisburg players jogged past. Mats was in the lead and came to a stop, leaning over to give Benni a kiss. No one was focused on this however, rather the fact that Robert Lewandowski obviously slowed down as he passed them, winked at Marco, and said in a drawl: “Hey there, Reus.” He carried on running, leaving an embarrassed Marco, a confused Benni and Mats and an uncomfortable Toni behind him.

“Did…” Mats was watching Robert jog away, a strange expression on his face. He turned to Marco. “Did he just… _wink_ at you?”

Marco buried his head in his hands.

“What the fuck, Reus? What was that about – oh.” A grin spread across Mats’ face. “Ohhh.”

“What?” Benni was still ever so confused. “Mats what is it?”

“Marco can probably tell you.” He pecked Benni on the cheek and followed the way Robert had gone.

“You need to talk to him,” Toni told Marco, who was still covering his face with his hands. “Or everyone is going to realise.”

“Realise what!” Benni was practically yelling.

Toni glanced at Marco, who did not look like he was going to explain anything.

“Marco has had a run in with Lewandowski. Three run-ins, actually. Of the sexual kind.”

“Why can’t you just say we hooked up?” Came Marco’s muffled voice.

Benni ignored this. “What the fuck.”

“Yep.”

“What the actual fuck. Dude. What were you thinking? You cheated on - ”

“I know!” Marco exclaimed. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“I think he knows, Benni,” Toni said quietly. “And you’re right. This is probably not the best place to talk about it, considering that they’re both just over there.” He successfully changed the subject away from Robert Lewandowski, Marco visibly brightening as they talked about why Podolski wasn’t playing, or for that matter, attending school.

When his friend went to the toilet, just before the game started Benni rounded on Toni. “What the fuck!”

“Stop swearing, will you?”

“No! He – they – fucked?”

“No I don’t think they did. And don’t tell anyone.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Toni rolled his eyes.

“How did that even happen?”

“Ask Marco. But we can’t let this spread. I’ve told him he needs to tell Mario - ”

“Of course he needs to fucking tell Mario!”

“He won’t though.”

“Well he’s an idiot.”

At this moment, Marco returned, and the referee signaled the kick off, and no more time was given to talking about the matter.

It was a good game, Weisburg won easily, and Toni always had a good time watching Benni cheer his heart out for Mats, then pretend to be not fussed about the fact they’d won, when really he was bursting with pride.

As usual, he was left with Marco after the game as Benni went off to find his boyfriend, and when Mario approached, Toni couldn’t help sneak a look at his friend. Marco evidently saw it as he hissed a quick “Fuck off,” at him before bringing Mario into a hug.

“You’re coming to mine now, yeah?” Mario asked, his arm around Marco’s waist.

“Yeah,” the blond affirmed. “See you later Toni.” Marco didn’t meet his eyes.

He watched them go, a feeling of unease growing within him.

…

It was nearly midday on Saturday, and Thomas was dozing. They’d spent the entire morning in bed, and though Miro was ravenous, he could not bear to sacrifice this time, because he loved it so much, spending time like this with Thomas. Miro could hear the rise and fall of his breath, welcomed the little noises he always made when he was asleep. His head was pressed against the back of Miro's neck, and each little puff of breath he made tickled Miro's skin.

Miro had always marveled at how Thomas could fall asleep anywhere he wanted to. His eyes would shut and within minutes he would be oblivious to the world around him. Miro was more than a little bit jealous.

Gently, so as not to wake him, Miro traced his fingers along Thomas' forearms that were wrapped around his torso. He knew them well, the pattern of freckles he connected like a dot to dot puzzle, stretching across Thomas' skin all the way to his fingertips.

He felt Thomas stir behind him, and his boyfriend pressed a quick kiss to the back of his neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he picked up Thomas' hand and threaded their fingers together.

He felt Thomas squeeze his hand and smiled.

It was these kind of days that Miro adored about his relationship with Thomas. The other boy was content to spend the whole Saturday in bed if it was what Miro wanted.

The electronic ‘bing-bong’ of the doorbell resonated through the apartment. Thomas groaned and it made Miro laugh. He too was not too happy that someone had chosen to interrupt what was shaping up to be a pretty perfect afternoon.

“I'll get it,” he told Thomas, and slid out of bed.

He opened the door to find Bastian standing outside. “Hey,” Miro said, a little surprised to see his friend. “What's up?”

“Are you busy?”

“Thomas is here...”

“Cool,” Bastian pushed past him into the apartment and Miro half laughed half sighed. Of course Bastian didn't think that that might have been an indication that Miro was busy.

He shut the door and followed the way Bastian had gone. The blond was in the kitchen, rifling through Miro's cupboards. “Really?” Miro exclaimed. Bastian emerged with a packet of Doritos.

“Thanks,” he grinned.

Miro just rolled his eyes and beckoned him through to the bedroom.

“Was I interrupting something?” Bastian smirked at the Thomas-shaped mound under the blankets as he fell onto the bed right where Miro had been before.

“No,” Miro rolled his eyes. He sat down at the end, pushing Thomas, who in his absence had taken over the entire mattress.

Thomas' head emerged from the duvet and he smiled. “Hey Basti.”

“Hi Mülli.”

“How's things with Lukas?” Thomas asked, wriggling up into a sitting position, and plonking his feet on Miro's lap. Miro gave him a smile.

Bastian let out an overly dramatic sigh. “That's exactly what I'm here to talk about.”

Miro felt sorry for him. It must have been so hard, having feels for someone who had been your best friend most of your life. And Lukas - despite his proclamations of support for the gay couples in their group - was a little homophobic.

He felt a surge of appreciation for Thomas and gave his boyfriend's foot a tickle, shooting him another smile.

“So,” Thomas pressed. “What's up with Poldi? Do you know why he hasn’t been at school?”

Bastian was silent for a moment, looking down at his chips as if they perhaps held the solutions to all his problems. He looked back up at them. “We kissed - well actually he kissed me.”

“What!” Thomas exclaimed.

Miro just gawped at him.

“Yep.”

“When was this?”

“End of the holidays.”

“Then what's the problem!” Thomas threw his hands up in the air. “You've not done a Mesut and changed your mind have you?”

“Done a Mesut?” Bastian looked at him like he was crazy.

“Never mind,” Miro sighed. “Lukas kissed you? Not the other way around?”

“I told him how I felt and then we were just sitting there looking at each other like they do in the movies and shit and then he leaned in and kissed me. And then he ran off.” Bastian ran a hand through his hair. “I tried to talk to him at yours the other night and he wouldn't give me an answer. Then he didn’t turn up to school and missed the game yesterday and I texted him and he’s just ignored me. I don’t know what’s going on in his head.”

Miro looked at Thomas, who was looking thoughtful. He turned back to Basti. “I mean... it's progress, right?”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“Who else knows you kissed? Have you spoken to Fips?”

“Yeah. Although he's never helpful. Just sighs at me and feels sorry for me.”

“Fips has given you pretty much the same advice we have,” Miro pointed out. “He's trying to help. Don't chew him out.”

Bastian shrugged. “Still. Lukas is just avoiding me so really I'm just back to square one on that front.”

“So you tried to speak to him the other day at the party? What did you say to him?”

“He just wouldn't properly talk about it. I mean... he kissed me. There's got to be something there right? Right?”

They both nodded.

“So I'm not going crazy. He must feel something for me! And if we could just talk about it, it would all be sorted, even if he says he doesn't feel the same, he just needs to give me an answer!”

“Never thought you and Poldi would be the talking about your feelings types,” Thomas laughed.

“I never thought I would like him like I do!” Bastian exclaimed.

"You've really grown up," Miro said quietly. "And Lukas means a lot to you."

Bastian looked at him, an expression of surprise mingled with desperation on his face. “I... he does.”

“You're right that you need to talk about your feelings,” Miro said. “That's the only way you'll sort anything.” He looked sideways at Thomas, and his boyfriend smiled at him, the words unspoken between them, both thinking about their own problems with talking about feelings.

“But he won't! He's too fucking scared, I know he is. He's scared he feels the same way and he's just avoiding me. He kissed me! It's got to mean something!”

“It does,” Miro reassured him.

Bastian sighed, raking his hands through his hair.

“You've got to give him space though,” Thomas added. “It took you a while to come to terms with all this right?”

Bastian nodded.

“So give him some time to sort out what he's feeling, yeah?”

"Yeah, I know. It's just… he’s not even coming to school because he’s avoiding me. It’s hard.”

“Maybe him not coming to school is just him trying to figure things out,” Thomas said. “But I get you. It’s hard.” Miro could hear that he wasn't just saying that, that it was coming from a place in Thomas that had experienced the same thing. With him. He brushed his thumb gently against Thomas' ankle, drawing a little circle.

“That tickles,” Thomas grinned at him, so he did it again.

“Look you two, I know you're in love and have got the most perfect relationship in the history of Weisburg but I need help with my problems!”

Miro ignored him. “I love you,” he told Thomas.

“Love you too.”

Bastian threw chips at the both of them, and had to spend the afternoon trying to get bright orange Dorito seasoning out of Miro’s white duvet.

……

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Hello again. It's been a while.  
> I don't really know what I'm doing with this fic. You might get more. You might not. Uni's a bitch.  
> Thank you so much for reading, and if you've got the time, let me know what you thought, it might motivate me to finish this piece of trash off.  
> Love you all.  
> -C


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